Before the Fall
by IronArmy
Summary: A look into the time before the first Dark Souls game, focused on Gwyn's knights. There are also a few OCs in this story, but they aren't really the focus. I hope you enjoy. I'll be keeping the rating as T unless someone can convince me otherwise.
1. Chapter 1

Oolacile burned.

"Oh, it is not so very awful." Hawkeye Gough hefted his enormous greatbow with relative ease and drew the thick cable back with impressive might, even for his size. "Much worse than these frail drakes doth stalk the skies." He looked down his bow, briefly noting the positions of the numerous flying shapes. He turned to look down at his teammate and released the arrow, if it could be called that, confident in his aim. The massive steel projectile soared noisily through the air, replacing the organs of one of the larger drakes.

He began to set another arrow to his bow. "Why, dost thou remember the great dragon Verdredae? Now that was a foul beast indeed!" Gough gave a booming laugh as he dropped another drake off of the room of the townhouse.

"I recall Verdredae quite vividly, Gough. One tends to remember those that doth swallow them." Ornstein's spear stabbed swiftly through a drake's neck, and he fired a bolt of lightning from the protruding tip into the eye of one of its brothers. He flicked the corpse off his beautiful weapon and took a moment to wipe blood off of it before quickly dirtying it again. The Dragonslayer spear had been given its name for a reason. His eyes, unseen behind his fierce Leo helm, darted up to analyze the carnage ensuing before them. Most of the humans had managed to scurry from their homes before the greater part of this swarm had arrived, but some remained sequestered in the town.

A scowl appeared on Ornstein's face. Why couldn't the humans simply defend themselves? He was Captain of the Guard, for the Great Lord's sake! He wasn't needed here, leaping across these ridiculous tiny buildings. "Let us put these lizards to rest quickly greatarcher, I have an assembly to oversee by sundown." Three more drakes fell to him, falling through the roof of a nearby house.

"Sundown?" rumbled the giant as he released another shot, "You have not four and forty minutes to reach Anor Londo before sundown by my count."

"You forget, my companion, that I could outpace thee with one leg severed." He lopped the leg off of a drake diving towards his face. "I SHALL keep my appointment."

Gough chuckled, a sound like an avalanche. "Very well, my Captain. Let us see what we may do to help things along." His next shot collapsed a severely damaged column, the roof it once supported already burned away, and the column flattened four drakes against the street.

Shortly, the drakes were dispatched, and the few remaining took flight into the wild. Gough downed the straggler from a mind-boggling distance. "Hah-ha! That was some sport! Ohhhh, what a glorious day!" He sighed deeply and sat down with a thud, laying his greatbow down next to him. Ornstein flicked his spear, spattering the blood onto the roof while he surveyed the damage rendered upon the town. His companion noticed his look.

"Oh, worry thineself not; I shall tend to this mess. Get thee home!"

Ornstein analyzed the situation, as he did any. Gough would clean this town to the best of his ability, perhaps investing too much time. He had once found the giant replanting a small garden in the aftermath of a similar battle. The positives included Ornstein keeping his reputation for always being on time intact though, so it was well worth it.

"Farewell friend, I owe thee a hearty meal." With that, he braced against the roof and dashed off with great speed, leaving a noticeable path in the trees as he went. Gough chuckled again and stretched. He had seen some columns on the north side of the wall that were far too plain for their prominent placement.

"Come out, little manlings! The drakes have departed, yet the hovel remains!" He pushed himself off the roof and landed on the ground with a thump that rattled any remaining windows. "But fear not, I shall slay thine hovel with my bare hands!" He saw a few dirty faces emerge from the wreckage. Most were apprehensive; after all, Gough stood taller than most of their houses and was heavily muscled to match his height. Those that knew better began picking their way through the rubble to him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Despite the unacceptable length of time wasted on the drakes, Ornstein made it to Anor Londo with time to spare. He rode the elevator to the high up city, and couldn't help but feel a stirring in his heart upon seeing the wondrous place in the setting sunlight.

Anor Londo was as much a work of art as it was a bustling city. Flying buttresses joined to tiered cathedrals and glorious walkways. Most everything was lined with white quartz and orange-red brick. There were figures of various statures walking this way and that, a steady flow of trade and tourists that were broken only by the giant sentinels standing guard at vague intervals.

Vague intervals? A frown crossed his face. He would have to see to it that his guards were more organized. The fact that there hadn't been an attack on Anor Londo in many, many years was no excuse. He would tighten up his security later, his appointment came first.

Despite his need for haste, he did not touch his armor, save to remove a small bloodstain from the helm that he had missed earlier. He had an image to maintain. He settled for a brisk walk, all too aware of the sun approaching the horizon. As soon as he reached a secluded corridor, he dashed down it with impressive speed. He treated the next four similarly, returning to a walk upon leaving the building. His quarters were just across the way, and he estimated he had about thirteen minutes left, though Gough was better at that than he.

He became a whirlwind of activity in his quarters, removing his armor and setting it carefully on its stand. Like most of the local beings, he was light-skinned. Small scars crisscrossed his face and arms, a large one barely peeking over the neck of his undershirt and running along his side to his waist. He had earned these in defense of his Lord, and so they were not regrets. Still, he was glad that the worst of his scars, from battling the Ancient Dragons, were mainly hidden beneath most clothes and armor.

He had changed into a crisp ornamental jacket that displayed some of his medals, and chose to clip on the matching cape after some deliberation. This was a special occasion after all.

His shiny black boots clicked on the stones as he made his way to the main hall. He was cutting this close; he didn't even have time to stop to correct a sentinel's posture. He settled for a disapproving look with his red irises.

There would be many important deities attending this event, some from far-off lands. He must be the picture of control and poise. He flourished his cape as he entered the hall, he had taken classes for this sort of thing. After he had returned from dragon slaying, of course.

And here he was; five minutes early.

The magnificent hall boasted massive pillars that swept up to high vaulted ceilings. Golden-red sunlight slanted in from the large windows on the west side, though the chandeliers were lit in anticipation of the approaching night. They would more than suffice, experience told him. Long tables cut from the wood of an Arch tree and specially treated here in Anor Londo were laid out on their heavy legs already on either side of the hall, ending with the Great Lord's Gwyn's throne, which remained empty at the moment. Two smaller thrones flanked his, and Gwynevere sat on the left presently. The Sunlight Princess beamed as she welcomed each visitor that approached. She shared the brilliance and general charisma of her father.

The other throne wasn't built for the youth that reclined in it. He had been born frail, and had remained so. Gwyndolin was a slender…lad. He had been born with an affinity for moonlight magic, generally perceived as a feminine art, and lacked much bass to his voice. To be quite frank, Ornstein believed that Gwyn was unsure of how to treat his odd son. Even now, the youth was using a small spell to lightly conceal himself upon the throne.

As soon as he had analyzed the area, Ornstein stepped into the hall in earnest, and all the sentinels stood stiffly at attention. After a quick sweep of their excellent form, he made sure to scowl and glance away. He couldn't have them thinking that he was going soft.

"Excellent work, Dragonslayer Ornstein. Can't have them thinking you've gone soft, could we? Go on and give them a snort, won't you?"

Ornstein complied without looking at the speaker. "Everything is falling into place, Melda. It's shaping up to be another successful evening."

Melda was something of a royal among the multitudes of workers and attendants in Anor Londo. It was she who had taught Ornstein all he knew about the finer side of life, from table manners to foreign policy. She was quite an ancient one, hunched and wrinkled. A shawl of coarse wool adorned her as always. It was certainly not a fitting garment for this event, but Ornstein would be hard-pressed to find someone to order her about.

"Success is yet to be determined, child." Another habit of hers, calling everyone child. Though perhaps they were such to one with so many years upon their shoulders. No one who knew her took it as an insult. "There is much to be accomplished here tonight. The lord of Fire will be here, so peace must be kept betwixt Lord Gwyn and him."

Ornstein nodded. As Captain of the guard, most of his responsibilities tonight included ensuring the safety of every guest. That only slightly overlapped with actual attendance to the event itself. There were others to take care of such things.

But the lord of Fire, Flann, could be temperamental. Ornstein decided he would post a silver knight nearby the drink.

"Relax Ornstein, this isn't your first battle." The voice was quiet, yet had no problems gaining attention. It was often the last thing Lord Gwyn's enemies heard in their final moments.

"Ciaran, welcome back." He looked down at his companion in much the same manner that Gough had looked down at him. Ciaran, the Lord's Blade, was an assassin of deadly cunning. And she was wearing her full armor set along with her swords at her waist.

Ornstein frowned. "This is a formal event—"

"Which you know I will not truly be attending. I never do. And it pays to be consistent." She was quite suddenly on the other side of him. "I believe you'll handle things from here. I just wanted to check in." She gave a polite bow to Melda before appearing to vanish down a straight hallway.

Melda chuckled. "She can make an exit, that one."

"Her timing is impeccable; the event begins!"

At a signal from the Captain of the Guard, the orchestra in the balcony started up. Just as the music reached a peak, the Great Lord Gwyn entered the hall.

The Lord of Sunlight exuded confidence and wisdom as he strode powerfully toward his throne. While not the tallest of the deities assembled tonight, he overpowered all by his presence alone. A tall crown adorned his head and his beard had bands of gold worked into it.

"Huh. The Old Man can make an entrance, I'll give him that." The voice was gravelly, and always seemed to hint of danger. The voice belonged to Executioner Smough, who also resided here in Anor Londo. The man was about twice Ornstein's height and likely four times his weight in solid muscle. A crease appeared between Ornstein's brows.

"Good evening Smough. I trust thou hath been enjoying thine day?"

A crooked smile split the huge figure's face. "I always enjoy my work, you know that." Ornstein noted that Smough's hands clenched and opened again.

A giant sentinel and two silver knights bustled by, speaking in hurried tones while the sentinel carried a large platter of food. Ornstein waved them down. "That goes on the _eastern_ table." The sentinel began to bow, but stopped midway after remembering the platter it carried. The three hurried to do as they were told.

The executioner shook his head, his medium-length dirty blond hair swinging slightly. "You seem busy, friend. Perhaps overworked." He stared intently at the Captain. "Have you given any more consideration to my proposal?"

Ornstein composed his face. "I'm afraid not, Smough. The answer remains as it was given."

There was a brief moment of pure animal rage in the executioner's eyes, and then it was gone. "That…is unfortunate. I may ask again later, when you see you will need use of me."

Melda snorted. "Please, child. He will have no more use for you than a sailor has for a field."

The executioner grimaced in the place of a smile at the ancient woman. "And what use is there for a hag such as yourself?" He took a half step toward her. "Why, I—"

Ornstein's arm shot out and blocked Smough's path. "I believe thee to have business elsewhere, executioner."

Smough seemed to gather himself. "I'm sure you're correct. After all, the Witch of Izalith approaches."

Ornstein whirled, surprised. He had met the Witch of Izalith only twice before, and never this far from her realm. She strode with a steady grace, a deep crimson robe almost completely concealed her, leaving only her slight smile within sight and sometimes her deft hands with their burnt palms. He immediately went to pay homage.

The Witch bent her head very slightly back to Ornstein as he took a knee before her. "Dragonslayer Ornstein, as courteous as ever. Lord Gwyn was wise to appoint thee."

"I welcome thee to our hall…" he stopped himself there. She had forbidden him from adding on any sort of title during their first meeting. "Enjoy thine night."

The Witch chuckled. "Oh, I intend to do so. Where hath the drinks been placed?"

Ornstein indicated the long table on one of the sides, where a silver knight was attempting to keep up with requests for glasses.

"A fine display, Captain. Stay thee well." She gave another head bob to Melda. "And I have waited long to speak with thee again. Come."

She departed for the table with the nursemaid, already engaged in lively conversation. The Witch was tailed by her seven Daughters of Chaos, whose garb matched their mother's only in color scheme. Most had raven hair, with the exception of one pale blonde and one fiery redhead. Their dresses were exotic and varied, one even appearing to have live flames on the shoulders. Most had gold or black trim.

Ornstein composed his expression and gave them a bow. There was a reason for their titles, as he had found personally. At a very similar event, one had insisted on a dance with him, then promptly danced him to exhaustion. Their movements were hypnotic, their fire art strong. He would keep an eye on them, but perhaps not as close an eye as last time.

He realized he was staring after them in thought, and was caught when they turned as one and winked. He flinched and directed his attention elsewhere quickly. Yes, he would definitely need to post more knights to the serving tables.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Gough arrived at Anor Londo in time to meet most of the deities as they were leaving. Those columns had proven to be more problematic than he had originally assumed. He was either quite well received or snubbed because of the debris and dirt on his person, depending on whom he spoke to.

The giant released an enormous yawn upon pushing open the door to his chambers. He didn't even notice that someone had landed upon his shoulder. Ciaran was comparable to a human in size, but lighter than most after all. She brushed a dirt clod off of Gough's temple. "You've been busy, Hawkeye."

The enormous figure blinked tiredly, scanning for the source of the voice. Ciaran kept her balance without effort. "Ah, Ciaran! I hadn't heard of thine return!" Another yawn escaped him, and he attempted unsuccessfully to hide it behind a fist.

"Well, you hadn't entered the city until about an hour ago, Gough." She sat cross-legged. "There was a party. If you hurry, you might be able to catch the last of the drink."

But the giant was already sitting on his bed. "I'm afraid not, Ciaran. A good rest is imminent." He stopped lying down suddenly. "Unless you needed to talk of something?"

The Lord's Blade was still on Gough's shoulder, standing now at an angle so that she was upright. She crossed her arms and blew a strand of her deep brown hair out of her eyes. "Have a guess at who pursued me last evening."

Gough let out a groan and let himself fall onto the mattress. Ciaran adjusted accordingly. "Say thee not that it was that vile man."

"You're an excellent guess, unfortunately. The brute actually left the hall and made his lumbering way to the roof, if you can believe it." Her yellow eyes flashed with anger at the memory. Smough had set his mind on being her lover shortly after they met. He had arrived near her perch last night reeking of drink, and she had contemplated knocking him off the roof and blaming his drunkenness. As it was, she had eventually responded to his advances by delivering a solid kick to his jaw that laid him out. He might still slumber on the roof for all she knew.

The greatarcher made a rumbling in his throat. "Well, if the Executioner will not see sense, than perhaps I should have a word with him…"

Ciaran smiled. "Please, Gough. You're no ruffian. There is no need to make this a spectacle, I can fight my own battles."

Gough chuckled tiredly. "You are right, of course. Now, I shall have to yield to my swiftly approaching dreams. A good night to thee." Within ten seconds, thunderous snoring filled the chamber. It had been designed to contain those specific noises. Ciaran left the room to see the sun beginning to peek over the eastern mountains.


	2. Chapter 2

"There are no others I doth entrust to accomplish such a task as this. Live up to thine titles, and journey forth to slay the dragon Jerdtkragen." The Great Lord spoke in a rich baritone to the Lord's Blade and the Hawkeye. "I have need of your Captain, and thus the task shall be ever more deadly. Dost thou possess the strength to meet this threat?"

Ciaran bowed even lower. "We shall not fail you, Great Lord."

Gough bowed his head. "We will return shortly, I believe. Worry thee not! My bow has longed for the taste of a dragon's hide!"

A small smile lit Lord Gwyn's face. "Very well, depart thee soon. The dragon already besets a human town, yet will not be sated there. Jerdtkragen means to lay siege to Anor Londo."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Humans. Being about their size and approximately their appearance, Ciaran had spent time deployed as something like a spy among them before and had not been duly impressed. There was an appalling amount of theft and murder taking place what seemed like every other day. She had quickly grown tired of those who had approached her simply for being a female. It was far easier to wear a man's armor and not speak to get respect around humans.

But today, she was in her custom armor, with black plates and mask that weighed about half of what they should have. She hadn't been sent to this specific area before, and she understood why. This town was one of many that ringed the mountain that Anor Londo was built on top of. The farther you went from the mighty towers of the Great Lord, the less grand the structures got. This was generally the case for the beings too, in Ciaran's opinion.

The two heard the dragon long before they saw it. This was not the same beast as the drakes at all. A drake was a mere shadow of a weak dragon.

The Everlasting Dragons were remnants of the previous age, the Age of Ancients. There had been no life or death in that time, no light or darkness. With the advent of the Age of Fire, the growing disparity that was so alien to the Dragons shattered their previous existence. Some simply went mad, realizing they were given life. Others soon sampled the taste of death.

Not this Dragon. Jerdtkragen was known to dissect his victims after knocking them unconscious with his unique breath. To combat this, Ciaran simply wore her mask. It was blessed, and would keep the air in her lungs pure. Gough would need a hefty dose of the gas to be felled, and he preferred to strike from a distance at any rate, so he simply wore his helmet.

There was a detachment of human clerics sent with them in an attempt to limit casualties. They were led by Bishop Havel himself, after he heard there was a dragon. The man and most of his closest followers were armored in stone cut from the very mountain, and had to wear special rings to not be crushed by their own armor. Instead, they crushed others and spread news of Lord Gwyn amongst the humans. In return, the humans were granted the great city of New Londo. The cavern it rested in took quite some time for the giants to excavate, but it was well worth it. Ciaran had to admit, the city had charm.

The Bishop heard the roar of the Dragon and raised his hefty stone spear to signal a halt. He turned to address his group. "Men! Today we seek not the hide of the Dragon, but the hide of man! Put the miracles we have learned to good use, there shall likely be blood to wade through aplenty!" He gestured, putting the spear over Ciaran's head. "Your priority is healing our two Knights!" the spear went over the man next to the bishop, who wore a rough hood in the place of a helmet. "Casper will lead half of you lot to follow her, I shall lead another to keep pace with Hawkeye Gough! Move out!"

As the Bishop finished his speech, there was a whoosh as one of Gough's enormous arrows flew over their heads. A second later, there was a surprised roar. Ciaran drew her swords and dashed toward the nearest building.

"Gods, how do we keep up with her?!"

Casper laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "You can't. Just follow me and form up."

It was nearly twilight, a very advantageous fact for Ciaran. She moved as swiftly as a loosed arrow between shadows, circling the Dragon that easily filled the town square.

Jerdtkragen was built differently from any other dragon she had seen, but that was to be expected. It was theorized that the Dragons began to change and specialize after the arrival of disparity. No wings sprouted from the spiny back of this beast. Iridescent green scales reflected the dying light, and three glaring blue eyes shone like coals in the beast's head under two curved horns. Good, those were Ciaran's target, as the scales would take massive force to pierce. Gough's arrow was not lodged very far into the Dragon's back.

Wait, movement. Instead of trying to determine where the arrow had come from, Jerdtkragen was snapping and swiping at something on the nearby ground. Scratch that, two somethings.

She flipped nimbly off of a roof onto the next one. There were moans and screams coming from inside this house, but Casper's detachment was nearby, and they broke the door in from the rear of the house, keeping it in between them and the Dragon. They would save whom they could, she needed to focus on the…

Was that a wolf?

Indeed it was. Ciaran had seen it's like before. It was a great grey wolf, and they could get quite large in time, but she had never seen one wield a sword.

It clenched its jaws around the hilt of the rusty sword, and swiped at the Dragon's face with it. Jerdtkragen leapt backward out of the wolf's swing, only to be assaulted by another figure. Ciaran half expected another wolf, but was rewarded with a different sight. A man swung a bent greatsword, striking the Dragon in the snout and shattering his sword in the process. This was no human. The reverberation from that blow alone would have thrown a human to the ground. This figure stood almost twice the height of a man, with tanned skin and tousled black hair. A rag had been wrapped over his face in an attempt to protect himself from the fumes.

Jerdtkragen reared up and unleashed a torrent of the noxious gas directly onto the man, who raised his dingy greatshield to block. When the smoke cleared, he was obviously not hanging on to consciousness very tightly. The Dragon performed a quick tail swipe that threw both man and wolf into buildings with a crunch of timber. He raised a claw to finish them off, but received an arrow in his nose instead. The shaft bit deep, and Jerdtkragen roared and thrashed his tail.

Ciaran had managed to sneak around behind the beast and leap onto its back amidst his torment. She ran between the spines as if sprinting through a forest, hanging onto one when the Dragon began to smash nearby houses. She leapt up the beast's neck swiftly, realizing that he would likely sense her at any moment. Jumping from Jerdtkragen's forehead, she swung on one of his horns and thrust her dark sliver tracer deep into the beast's center eye.

While she couldn't hear the hiss of the poison working over the screeching, Ciaran knew it would run its course. She reversed her swing and performed a similar move with the left eye before being shook from the Dragon's head. She landed badly.

Enraged beyond sense, Jerdtkragen caught sight of a cleric from his good eye. A swipe of a claw separated the human's torso from his body. Unfortunately, the strike also shattered a nearby wall, revealing the rest of the group. They immediately scrambled, yet the beast's black fangs closed on two before they got far.

He was dousing the area in more of his sleeping gas when a stone bounced off of his forehead. He roared, trying to find the culprit, but got an arrow in his center eye socket. Another stone flew, and Ciaran traced it back to the man from earlier. He was getting up from stroking the fallen wolf, and had murder in his pale blue eyes. He clutched his scarred greatshield in his right hand and his shattered sword in his left.

"Beast! Pray you speak with me!"

Ciaran couldn't have imagined a worse move at that point. The man wore little to no actual armor, covered with cloth armor mostly, was obviously already injured, and held a shattered weapon. Not to mention that he had drawn attention to himself from the Dragon.

Jerdtkragen screeched and swung his head towards the man, keeping him in sight of his last eye. The dead man rolled to the side and struck out with his shield, deflecting the attack. But the tide quickly took a turn for the worst as the Dragon deftly recovered and grabbed the fighter, his jaws clamped around the man's abdomen. There was a sickening crunch as Jerdtkragen bit down, joined by a scream from the man as his legs went limp.

Ciaran made haste for the last remaining eye, but her adversary was backing up with the mortally injured fighter in his jaws. The man had dropped his shield, but the broken sword still remained. Blood fell from his mouth as he roared "You've given my sword a sharper blade!" and plunged it into the last eye.

Ciaran was forced to step back as the Dragon began his death throes. There was a frantic flurry of claws and tail swipes all around, flattening houses like toys. The fighter fell from the beast's jaws, nearly torn in two. Ciaran crouched nearby and waved her gold tracer back and forth in the air, its glowing appearance signaling the remaining clerics. "Over here! Healing!" She grimaced as she inspected the wounds. It didn't look good. "What were you thinking? That was a Dragon, not some bandit to play with!" She didn't expect a reply.

There was a wet gasping sound that surprised her more than the sound of the Dragon falling to the ground for the last time. "This…this is m-my…home." She looked over to see the man's head fall limp against the ground, a light appearing to fade from his eyes as the remaining clerics gathered and formed a circle. The golden light began to shine, but Ciaran knew it couldn't bring back the dead.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Ornstein kept a regular pace among the pillars, keeping a sharp eye on the Great Lord's youngest child. There was a time when the Dragonslayer would have considered this sort of thing to be far from his duty, but recent events had changed his mind. Lord Gwyn had met with him personally, telling him many things about the politics between the gods. Most of the local deities had worked together to battle the Everlasting Dragons and bring on the Age of Fire in earnest, but after that it seemed that each had a different plan for the impending Age.

In short, there were too few that Lord Gwyn trusted. Ornstein was honored to be among their number. His Lord had been more than generous to his allies in the Captain's opinion, going so far as to grant a shard of his own Lord Soul to the four human kings that ruled over New Londo.

The Great Lord was truly convinced of the Witch of Izalith's loyalty, yet knew virtually nothing of her plans and workings. This worried him, but there were more pressing threats to face. While he may not understand her very much, there were those he understood far less.

Gravelord Nito had vanished underground almost immediately after the war with the Dragons. The dark deity did not speak a single word in his existence, yet had gathered credible power in a surprisingly short time. The First of the Dead was an enigma, as no one even knew what kind of entity he was, or if it was even correct to call Nito a 'he'. His motives were only slightly less murky. If one was to journey into the catacombs, they would find that the dead therein might wake at their presence. After a few attempts to do just that, it became obvious that the Gravelord wished to be left alone.

Seath the Scaleless had always made Ornstein a little queasy. The Dragon had been granted a dukedom after betraying his kind during the war. Ornstein agreed with Bishop Havel on this point; a traitor would likely remain a traitor.

Ornstein slipped behind a pillar to escape Gwyndolin's gaze. He had paused by a nondescript corner of a hall that saw little use. There was a faint humming sound, and the wall faded as if it were never there. Ornstein narrowed his blood red eyes. What was a secret chamber doing in his citadel, and how had he never come across it?

Magic, of course. The youngest child was quite adept in it, and might even rival Seath one day. The Duke had been granted an archive on a nearby mountain to conduct his…research. The presence of a Dragon so close already worried Ornstein, but he was sure he had heard a scream come from the archive as he made his rounds one night. There was no doubt about it, that one gave him many sleepless nights, but he was certain that he could be dealt with if it came to that. After all, the Captain had slain Dragons before, and they had had the characteristic stone scales that kept them immortal. The Duke lacked such, but then again that was the object of his research, as far as he knew.

He had waited long enough. Moving with as much stealth as he could muster, he ventured closer to the archway. It was a little short for him, but he could make it in a crouch. The inside was dark, but lit at wide intervals by crystals set into the walls. He realized just how dark it was when the entrance sealed itself behind him. His tactical mind went berserk.

 _No need to panic, the Great Lord's son is NOT a combatant. I will just wait here for him to return, and have a word with him._ But then again, Lord Gwyn had asked that this task be carried out in secrecy. He pressed on the wall that had not existed a few seconds ago, but it was solid brick. He knew he was capable of breaking his way out, but what then? Explain a hole in the wall? Not likely.

He would journey on. If he was discovered, than that was that. He took a deep breath to still his heart. This was NOT a battlefield. There were no Dragons here, and there would be no casualties today.

He pressed forward in a crouch, ears straining to catch any sign of what was going on ahead. It didn't take long for them to pick something up.

There was a murmuring coming from up ahead, very obviously Gwyndolin's voice. His tones suggested he spoke to someone, but who would be lurking in this forsaken tunnel? Perhaps Lord Gwyn was correct to be so wary. At the start, Ornstein had wondered at his King's suspicion of his own son, but this wasn't the first time the boy had been seen slinking off. Ornstein doubted that he understood Gwyndolin any better than his Lord did.

As he drew nearer, Ornstein could make out the vague sound of a second voice. It was scratchy but quiet, and he still had difficulty understanding its words, but he could hear Gwyndolin's voice clearly.

"It caused such an atrocity in truth? We have spoken often, yes, but thou hath not given much to me in the way of absolutes."

The Captain found himself able to see into a tall chamber where the youngest child resided, his snake-like limbs twitching in irritation. But where was his company?

"Do not question my judgment, boy. Sin is mine to see, and of it I drink." The voice croaked.

There was the source. Ornstein squinted his eyes. It appeared to be a stone door, set into the rearmost wall. The voice issued from beyond it.

There was an unsettling silence all of a sudden, followed by a slow chuckle. "Ah, the sin of eavesdropping. I shall leave thee to it, good Captain. Thine flesh already bears the mark of thine wrongs."

Gwyndolin spun around surprised to see Ornstein rise to his feet in the height of the chamber. The Dragonslayer was several feet the taller of the two.

"What is this?!"

Ornstein set his jaw. "I'm disappointed, master Gwyndolin. Skulking about in the shadows, speaking with the likes of whatever being resides here!" He strode to the door, determined to shed light on the source of that odd voice. Undoing the latch, he pulled on the heavy stone door, and it swung open on noiseless hinges.

To reveal a wall.

The Captain gave Gwyndolin a stern look. "Show me what is really there."

The youth shook his head, eyes wide. "No, there is no illusory magic to be found upon that wall!"

Ornstein frowned, pressing his hand against the bricks. They were faintly damp, simply from being in such a place for an extended amount of time. "What manner of trickery is this then? Where is that other person?"

A rebellious light came into the young lord's eyes. "They appear to have vanished, my liege."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Quite understandably, Ornstein was having a bad day. So when he arrived in the entrance hall to find a man bleeding all over the white tiles, things quickly spiraled out of control.

"What is the meaning of this?! Who is this and what is he doing here?!"

Gough rubbed the back of his neck. "I do apologize, Ornstein. This man performed an astounding act of bravery this day, leading to the death of the Dragon Jer—"

Ornstein cut him off. "And what of _this_?" He gestured to the pile of clerics lying in a heap around the giant.

Changing gears took Hawkeye a little while. "Astounding act of bravery…"

Ciaran appeared to his left. "There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and I'm not which side of it this man was on." She gestured to the clerics. "They wore themselves out trying to heal him for what he did for the human town, so Gough carried them back."

Ornstein snorted. "That's against protocol. They must be ready to spread their abilities to those who may need it."

Ciaran frowned. "Look, I want him out of here as badly as you do, and you're not helping. We were going to bring him before the Sunlight Princess."

"The Sunlight Princess! Who is this man, to obtain such treatment?"

The man on the floor began coughing wetly, and a red spray painted the tiles. With titanic effort, he lifted his head slightly to look at them. "A—Artorias. My name is Artorias." With that, he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

Ornstein stared at the man for a few moments, his anger cooling down. Eventually, he spoke. "Very well, let us bring them all."

"…slew the Dragon Jerdtkragen…"

The Captain took a last inventory of all the bodies the Hawkeye carried. "…is that a wolf?"


	3. Chapter 3

Artorias did the impossible. He opened his eyes.

He was greeted by gentle sunlight filling a comfortable hall layered with drapes and tapestries. He tried to get up, but was struck suddenly by a sharp pain and a hand pressing on his chest. He lay back down.

"Too much has been fixed for you to undo it now, Artorias. Lie still."

He wrinkled his brow and attempted to brush his hair out of his eyes, but winced and stopped. "Where am I?"

A voice as gentle and radiant as the sunlight answered him. "Thou resideth within the mighty walls of Anor Londo, good sir." Gwynevere beamed at her patient. "I have been told of thine deed, and I commend thee for thine efforts."

Artorias's eyes widened in recognition. "My Lady! Forgive me for troubling thee, I—" He grunted in pain as he tried to get up, but Ciaran pressed him back down again.

"You seem to have a death wish, Artorias. Stay down!"

He shot her a look. "Very well." An urgent thought seemed to come to him suddenly. "How fares Oakbridge? Did you see a woman, near about my height? Where is Sif? Where—?" He lifted his head to look at himself, and Ciaran shifted, ready to act again. "Where are my clothes?"

The Sunlight Princess laughed musically. "I'm afraid thine garments were not fit to wear, as they were nearly rent in twain and quite dirty." A sheet had been thrown over Artorias to preserve his modesty, the material finer than any he had ever experienced.

He cleared his throat and reclined very carefully. "Well then…Did you see—?"

Ciaran interrupted. "Is Sif the name of the wolf?"

Artorias's face lit up. "Yes! So he is well. What of Serafina? Is she safe?"

Ciaran looked to Gough, who sat nearby. "Did you see a woman?"

The giant rubbed his chin. "Now that you mention it, I did spy a woman easily larger than human. She seemed well."

Artorias nodded contentedly. "A fortuitous turn of events, things seemed rather dark for a span."

Ciaran crossed her arms. "Things did go smoother than expected, aside from the fact that you were just about dead for a few minutes."

Artorias shrugged. "I've taken harder blows."

"I doubt it."

He flashed her a grin. "Give me a minute to build a story."

Gough chuckled, his joints audibly creaking as he stood. "I shall look forward to that, Artorias. Pray we meet again!" He turned to the Lord's Blade. "Come Ciaran, we should let this man heal."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Men, we suffered losses. Five strong souls gave their bodies away, but left their memories with us." Bishop Havel addressed his clerics in the Parish, about an hour's walk from the gates of Anor Londo. "You've all performed spectacularly in the face of intense battle." There was a murmur of thanks around the chamber. Most had been transported here by silver knights after they had exhausted themselves beyond consciousness.

The Bishop clapped a hand on Casper's broad shoulder. "While losses were high, gains were splendid." He hefted one of the Dragon's black teeth onto his podium. "I send this gem to New Londo on the morrow to fashion a new weapon. The scales of that beast should be a wondrous armor, and the spines on the beast's back are being considered for more use. Nobody inform that blind lizard of this, he may not take kindly to such a thing!"

Casper knew of Havel's mistrust of Seath and sorceries in general, and shared his opinions. "What of Oakbridge?"

The Bishop sat down heavily. "I'm going straight to bed tonight, I haven't had to heal like that in a long while." He raised a flagon to his men. "Tomorrow, I shall take volunteers into Oakbridge to assist in restoration." The flagon bumped Casper. "Remember to notify our gentle giant, he should speed the process."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I regret to inform thee of my failure, Great Lord. I was discovered whilst observing thine son." Ornstein looked up from his bow. "I have discovered something potentially ruinous, however. Gwyndolin conspires with some power I was unable to uncover. They spoke from beyond a closed door set into a solid wall."

Lord Gwyn left his throne and strode to the window. He stared out at the glorious towers and bridges of his kingdom and stroked his beard. When he spoke, his words were barely perceptible. "Velka." He was still for a long while.

Ornstein rose. "My Lord? What are thine commands?"

Gwyn remained looking out the window with a furrowed brow. "I command thee to cease your observation on my son. Distance thineself from his workings. I will deal with this personally." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "As I should have done long ago." He turned to address his Captain. "You have performed beyond expectations, resume your duties."

Ornstein bowed low. "My Lord."

As he left the Great Lord's chambers, his eyes came to rest upon a nearby human servant. This was unusual, as the servants closest to Lord Gwyn were specifically handpicked, and none were human. To further arouse the captain's suspicion, the woman ducked out of sight immediately.

"Miss, you cannot tread here. Who allowed thee into these chambers?"

He rounded the corner after her, ready to berate her. Instead, he found her drawing a weapon from a fold in her dress. He was so surprised that he would have been struck with the club, but an arm shot out at seized her wrist at the last second. She made an aggravated sound in her throat.

The interception had come from the human called Casper. The large man stared angrily into the woman's eyes and quietly spoke. "How dare thee." He squeezed her wrist until she was forced to drop the weapon.

Ornstein watched the club clatter on the tiles. "What is the meaning of this?!" A knife had appeared in his hand and he stalked over to the captive. "You dare bring such treachery here?!" The knifepoint was pressed to her comparatively small throat. "Speak, woman!"

To the captain's surprise, the woman twisted lithely and escaped Casper's grasp, diving for the wooden weapon. The Dragonslayer's boot connected with the club, sending it flying. He put his foot on top of the woman's prone form in the same motion, pinning her down. He lowered his face to look at her closely. "I think we deserve answers, don't you?" he hissed. "You could tell us now, or you could have a decidedly unpleasant conversation with our Executioner. You choose."

The woman glared at him but said nothing.

Ornstein rose. "Very well. Guards, to me!"

Within five seconds, two silver knights rushed into the room with swords drawn. "My lord, you called?"

Ornstein's eyes could have chipped stone. He got in the knights' faces. "And _where_ , pray tell, were _thee_?!" He gestured to the woman underneath his boot. "This… _vermin_ circumvented thine guard, undoubtedly with intent to harm the Great Lord!" He bared his teeth, a vein standing out in his neck. "Where. Were. YOU?!"

"Captain, we weren't—"

Ornstein silenced them with a viscous sweep of his hand. "I would command thee to take the prisoner to Executioner Smough, but I don't trust your judgement. Call two of thine number to do so and get out of my sight."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

As soon as he was minimally able to, Artorias set out to find Sif. He was dressed in the finest clothes he had ever worn, so smooth that he almost felt they would slide right off of him.

He cracked the door open slowly, very aware of the quiet in the citadel. There would likely be a flock of people trying to keep him down, if yesterday was any indication. The sun had yet to rise above the horizon, but it was hinting at it, the sky a vague red-orange.

Artorias noticed a silver knight looking at him sideways and realized how out of place he seemed, a stranger sneaking out of the Sunlight Princess's chambers in the wee hours of the morning.

He smiled and approached the guard. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Artorias, of Oakbridge. I arrived only yesterday for healing." The knight just looked at him for a moment, and he feared the man would sound an alarm. But then he slowly smiled and extended his hand to the taller being. They clasped forearms. "My name is Rethir, m'lord."

Artorias nodded his head. "Rethir it is! A pleasure to make your acquaintance." He cleared his throat. "Rethir, would you happen to know where my wolf is?"

"He's resting, like you're supposed to be."

Ciaran had appeared where there had been no one just a moment ago. The silver knight appeared embarrassed. "Forgive me, m'lady, I wasn't aware—"

Ciaran dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand. "You're not to blame here." She approached Artorias and crossed her arms, scowling at him. "First you nearly kill yourself by screaming at a Dragon, then you refuse to get well. I don't do well watching after children." Artorias did well not to mention that she was the smallest of the three present, standing only about half his height. His eyes went to Rethir's, but the knight's face was resolutely staring straight ahead.

He had made up his mind to look after his own though, and anyone who knew him knew his will was unbendable. "Look, I am well enough." He flexed his impressive arms, the silken fabric straining as it wasn't really designed for him. "Your Princess truly knows her healing!" He smiled through the brief stabbing pain in his gut.

The Lord's Blade didn't look convinced. "Fine. I'll show you to your wolf."

Artorias gave a bow. "I would be honored, m'lady. This place is foreign to me, and I know you can handle yourself. That Dragon never knew what hit it!"

Ciaran brushed a lock of her hair out of her eyes. "I'll be frank, Artorias. I haven't seen anyone recover as quickly as you have, healing or not. I thought Dragons would be a subject you would wish to avoid."

He rubbed his chin. "I never did come up with a tale of a worse blow." He smiled and shook his head, one hand unconsciously tracing across his abdomen. "In truth, I have never felt its like."

The two began to walk, Ciaran taking the lead. The man chuckled. "I have spent most of my life fighting bandits, minor monsters, and protecting the innocent where I can. Dragons, I never counted on."

Ciaran nodded. Most wore casual robes on days such as these, but she was rarely seen without her armor. She at least removed her mask outside of work. "Dragons were never my forte either."

Artorias snorted. "Truly? That last Dragon may have a hard time believing that!"

"I got lucky."

"I would believe that if I weren't speaking with one of Lord Gwyn's fabled knights!" He considered for a moment. "I don't think I've gotten your name?"

She stopped by an archway. "You don't already know me?"

He shrugged. "I only know what I hear." He regarded her soberly. "They hold a great deal of fear for you, the humans in my town."

She crossed her arms. "It's Ciaran, and that brings me to my next question. How did one such as yourself come to live among such lowly folk?"

Artorias frowned. "Lowly? Nay, those folk are as lowly as I. I have spent enough time tilling the ground alongside them to know that. Serafina used to live in a neighboring town, and she was well received there as well."

She shook he head. "Don't try to cover their nature, Artorias. I have been among humans before, and the experience does not often impress."

He looked around at the beautiful pillars and windows constructed around them. "It may be that you are trying to be unimpressed, m'lady. My neighbors are plenty impressive, even if they do not have such fine craftsmen as your Lord does." He waved his hand. "Ah, but enough of this! Which door might I find Sif behind?"

"Try the kitchen door."

Both turned to see Executioner Smough smoldering in the archway. Ciaran mentally kicked herself for not paying attention as the huge man approached. Artorias held his ground and extended his hand. "Hello there, my name is Artoria—"

Smough grasped Artorias's forearm and pulled him forward, smashing his forehead into the smaller man's with impressive force. He staggered backward, and was pushed to the ground.

Ciaran's swords were drawn. "You step out of line, Smough!"

He glared at her. "And what will you do? Stab Gwyn's Executioner?"

Ciaran scowled, yellow eyes flashing with anger, but sheathed her swords. "Leave Smough, or I shall devise some other method of harm."

The Executioner lifted Artorias a bit off the ground by his shirt. "You listen to me, manling. Stay away from her." He bared his teeth at his dazed victim. "Do you hear me?! Don't even look at her!"

Artorias's leg swung up and caught Smough in the fork of his legs. Taking advantage of the surprise he had caused, he freed himself from the massive man's grasp and punched him solidly in the throat simultaneously. He rolled to his feet, arms up and ready for combat. "That's going to be impossible, friend. She's my guide, you see."

Smough was almost mad enough to spit, but instead he clenched his fists until they cracked. He rose to his feet slowly. "Heed me, manling! I will crush your bones under my feet should you make a single false move!" With that, he turned and stormed off.

Artorias straightened up and brushed himself off. "I admit, not the greeting I expected in the great city of Anor Londo." He adjusted his shirt and nodded toward the man's back. "A former lover of yours?"

"Not in a thousand years." She glared acidly in the direction the Executioner had left in. "Smough is an executioner and nothing else but a pain to me."

He examined a small rip in the front of his tunic. "Hm. Well, I can say that such an occupation could not be mine. It seems soul-tainting work and I should think that I might be…disagreeable as well in his same position."

She shook her head as she lead the way again. "You're far too kind, Artorias. One day you might find that it gets you killed—for real this time."

He shrugged. "I suppose time will tell. It has served me fine so far."

Ciaran pushed open a door, and was almost thrown to the ground as a furry mass blurred past her. The great gray wolf leapt onto his master, yelping excitedly. Artorias laughed and ruffled Sif's fur. "There's my partner! How are thee, boy?"

Ciaran straightened, hands on her hips. "Huh, what do you know? He's up early, who would have guessed?" A smile lit her face, "Are you sure you're not related?"

Artorias gave her a mock serious look. "Certainly not, Sif's fur is much lighter than mine." The wolf licked him happily.

At that moment, two silver knights and a man in Berenike armor hurriedly rushed past, their armor clinking. Ciaran flagged them down. "What is the matter, is something wrong?"

The human bowed hurriedly. "Lord's Blade, an attempt has been made on the Great Lord's life, and the perpetrator has been apprehended. We go to bring them to the Executioner."

Ciaran's face hardened. She turned to Artorias. "It looks like our tour ends here. Can you find your way home?"

"Of course, m'lady."

"Good." She slipped her mask on. "And don't call me 'lady'." With that, she dashed off after the knights.

Left in the relative quiet of the hall, Artorias looked to Sif. "Well. I think Serafina may have difficulty believing me this time." Sif wagged his tail. "You're right, I'll leave out the whole 'bitten in half' portion."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The journey back to Oakbridge wasn't terribly long, so Artorias wasn't worried about provisions. He walked out one of the side entrances on the west, nodding to the guard up in the tower. "Enjoy thine day, friend!" There was no reply.

Artorias stopped in his tracks. It could be nothing, after all, not everyone was interested in responding to him. But he had a prickling sensation between his shoulder blades. Lady Ciaran had responded to an attempt on the Great Lord himself, and here lay a silent sentry post.

Sensing his master's intentions, Sif sat down and threw back his head in a full-throated howl. If there was a guard up there in possession of his senses, he would surely peer out or make some comment.

But there was only a very slight scraping noise, likely to be missed if the wind had been blowing.

His hand wandered to his hip, where his greatsword had hung. "Come, Sif." Crouching low, he crept up the flight of sweeping stairs to the tower. He froze when he saw a red spray of what could only be blood on the white stairs near the entrance. He gestured to Sif to be stealthy, and the wolf's teeth bared in preparation.

Sidling up to the doorway, Artorias peered inside carefully. The tower contained two small rooms from what he could tell, one for overall use and the other for what he assumed to be storage. The guard lay face down in a small pool of blood.

He crawled over to him carefully, looking to see if those responsible were still around. The guard appeared to be alive, so he propped him up against a wall. The man was out cold, his nose broken, but he seemed like he would make it. He stood up, seeing nobody around. "Alright Sif, let's warn—"

But Sif wasn't at his side. The great gray wolf was standing in front of the storage door silently, hackles raised. He looked back at Artorias with clear intentions.

Artorias nodded and slowly approached. "Let's get out of here and warn the royal guard immediately." He waited a few seconds, then threw the door open with his fist raised. They were immediately beset by four attackers.

Even in that brief first instant when everyone tried to decide what to do, Artorias could sense desperation. These men already felt doomed. Their eyes were frenzied and their weapons shook in their hands.

Artorias raised his hands, palms out. "Stop! Lay down thine arms and I shan't harm thee."

Three of the haggard men looked to the fourth uncertainly. The man's eyes flicked between Artorias and Sif, and his gaze hardened. He suddenly raised his sword over his head. "Death to our oppressors!" The sword slashed at Artorias's leg, but he lashed out with a solid punch that sent the man flying back into the wall.

"I said lay down thine arms. You have no chance of overpowering us, give in!"

Despite his speech, the remaining humans threw themselves into battle, if it could be called that. Sif pounced on one and sank his teeth into the man's arm, breaking it with an audible crack.

"I warned you! Cease now!" He kicked one up into the air and caught them, dropping them back onto the floor. He wanted these men apprehended, not killed. Sif swiped at another with his paw, throwing them to the ground.

"Death or freedom!" The last man jabbed his spear into Artorias's leg.

A horrible cold pain lanced through him briefly, and his leg reflexively lashed out, killing the man on impact. His limp body flopped on the ground. Artorias took a knee at the same time. The rudimentary spear had only delivered a superficial wound, but why had it hurt so much?

He lifted the rudimentary weapon to examine it, the spear small in his hand. Oddly enough, there was no blood to be found on the blade, but as he looked at it he felt as though it were vibrating slightly.

And craning closer.

He dropped the dark thing, climbing back to his feet. "Sif, watch our…prisoners." He kicked the weapons out of the room, over near the downed guard. "I will escort this man back to the citadel and warn them of the danger." He furrowed his brow and rubbed his leg. "Don't kill them."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Artorias had been quickly brought before Great Lord Gwyn upon relaying his story to the first silver knights he had found. He met with the captain of the guard, who gave him a stern and suspicious look before accompanying him into the throne room. This place was crawling with silver knights.

The Great Lord himself stood before his window, arms clasped behind his back. Ornstein took a protective stance nearby. "My Lord, this man brings important news." Gwyn's head turned only slightly.

Artorias went into more detail this time, explaining everything whether he thought it important or not. The Great Lord would want to know everything. Ornstein interrupted him.

"Did you say it was the west entrance that had been compromised? You're sure?"

"As sure as I've got my father's eyes."

Ornstein paled visibly. He knew this fortress in total more than anyone else. He was aware of a small structural weakness accessible from the little-used west entrance. The west portion had been an addition onto the rest of the city, and there was a small channel running through the wall as a little flaw. The builders had claimed it was for ventilation. It was too small for most anyone that lived here, but humans could move through it with little effort.

The problem was that no human should know of its existence.

"Traitors." Ornstein's color came back, his hands tightening on the shaft of his spear. He took a step towards Artorias. "You have connections with the humans, and your arrival is punctuated by the attempt on the Great Lord's life." His voice was cold and sharp, and he took another step forward. "What evidence have thee that you were not involved?"

Gwyn rested his hand on his captain's shoulder. "Be calm, Ornstein. This man had no knowledge of this attack." He turned his crowned head to examine Artorias. "He has shown bravery and skill in combatting an Ancient Dragon and halting a potentially lethal ambush." A smile awoke a myriad of wrinkles around the Great Lord's eyes. "He deserves a reward, and a responsibility."

Ornstein's eyes widened. "My Lord! Surely you don't mean to—"

"I surely do, my captain. In this very room, surrounded by those I trust."

Perhaps by coincidence, Gough entered the room at that very moment, taking in the scene. "What transpires in here?" he boomed.

In a series of leaps, Ciaran made it up to his shoulder to shush him.

Gwyn chuckled. "My statement stands." He suddenly fixed Artorias with a powerful gaze, his Lord Soul reflected in his eyes. "Artorias, do you accept the responsibility of becoming a Knight of Gwyn?"

Artorias's jaw dropped. One of Lord Gwyn's knights? They were tale-worthy, impressive figures in their fields. He managed to get his words out. "I do."

Gwyn inclined his head slightly. "Do you accept fealty to myself and to my rule?"

Artorias had gained confidence. "I do."

The Great Lord drew his immense sword, wreathed in flame. "Do you, Artorias, grant your service to the Lord of Sunlight as long as it may be required?"

He had lived under the shadow of Anor Londo all his life. The answer was quite clear, he loved his land.

"I do."

Gwyn nodded slightly. "Very well." The flaming sword was raised to its impressive height before it came down slowly upon his shoulder. The flames licked at his flesh and clothes, but did not harm him. The sword was moved to rest on his other shoulder as he became swathed in orange flames. There was an exciting and terrifying vibration along his spine, as though his bones trembled.

The Great Lord spread his arms wide. "I, Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight, Knight thee." Light spewed from his chest, lancing its way into Artorias.

His eyes were blinded, his muscles on fire. He clenched his fists and jaw, and light could be seen under his skin. It seemed as though this went on forever, but the light eventually faded, leaving him light-headed. He fell to his knees.

Ornstein helped him up, face unreadable. "Welcome, Knight Artorias."


	4. Chapter 4

They had offered him a room in Anor Londo, among other things with his new status, but he had surprised them by turning them down for the moment. He had already been delayed a ludicrous amount of time from seeing Serafina. He could already see her in his mind's eye, long dark hair in a braid as she did when irritated, and an eyebrow crooked.

He walked a little faster.

As it was, he was only a few minutes out from Oakbridge. Sif trotted at his side, panting happily. "Maybe I can convince her that you ran off, Sif. That I had to catch you, and that was the reason for the delay?"

The wolf stopped and shook himself.

"You're right, of course."

They strode into Ten-stones no farther than five paces before they were swarmed by humans, mostly children. They laughed and jumped on Sif, who began to race in circles.

And there she was, exactly as he had pictured her. She crossed the square to him to grasp his shoulders. "Alright, come in. You'd better have a good tale for me, I saw the aftermath in Oakbridge!" She threw her arms around him and pressed her lips to his.

This town was named Ten-stones because of the old stone spires that ringed it. They were older than the town itself, moss-covered and weathered, but still sharp on top. Serafina rubbed Sif's head as they walked into their house. "Where are your sword and shield?"

"If it had come from anyone else, I wouldn't have believed them. But _you_ , my dear Artorias, have a knack."

He looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Now what does that mean?"

She rose and wrapped her arms around him. "Love, you were _bitten_ in _half_." She squeezed his muscular frame carefully, as if it would fall off.

"I never said anything about that…"

"Dragons don't nibble. They devour."

Artorias shot Sif a look. "You told her, didn't you?" Sif just rolled over.

"Very well, you've found me out." He turned around to face her. "But Oakbridge needed me."

" _I_ need you too." She made a mock scowl, but he caught a sincere undertone. "And they had two of Gwyn's knights there." She crossed the room and examined the fine tunic he had brought back in the place of his weapons. "What are they like?"

Artorias unconsciously rubbed his chest where dragon teeth had pierced him not too long ago. "The knights? Well, there is this _one_ knight. He is valiant and incredibly good-looking…rather new, but what does that matter?"

She chuckled. "He sounds wonderful. Perhaps you should introduce me?"

Their laughter echoed into the peaceful night.

"Truly though, tell me of them! I have heard great tales of the Hawkeye. Is he really twice your height?"

"That he is, with a heart twice as large."

"I doubt that." She fondled the seam on the silk tunic. "And what of the Lord's blade?"

"She has quite the spirit, that one. Quick as a flash and sneaks like a ghost."

"Is she quite pretty?"

Artorias's face froze. "Must you spring such dangerous questions on me? I'm still recovering, you know."

She laughed. "Very well! Another time then…"

He snorted. "The pain from the wound may never go away."

"Don't glower so much. You're allowing thine anger to distract thee."

Ornstein straightened up. Melda was right of course, but he could not help but wonder at his Lord's choice. Of course Artorias had helped in recent matters, but others had done similar things before without such reward. He was unsure of the man's loyalties and ties to the humans given recent events.

The hunched old woman nodded. "Much better." She grinned as she retrieved an envelope from one of her many pockets. "This is for you."

Some may have questioned why Melda was in Ornstein's chambers in the wee hours of the morning, but he was used to her appearing and disappearing as she would. He had been sitting at the edge of his bed after being woken by a nightmare, a memory of the war with the Dragons. He accepted the package and strode to the lamp to kindle it.

The royal attendant looked rather smug. "It's from that Queyla woman."

His hand stopped over the lamp, and he tucked the parchment into his pocket. This would be for his eyes only. Melda sniffed indignantly.

The captain began to dress in partial armor. "She will want to…meet, no doubt."

Melda sniffed again. "Aye, she shall want to meet thine loins!" She shuffled toward the door, cackling to herself. "Perhaps it would be wise to bring thine spear!"

He worked to control his heart rate, breathing evenly. The letter did indeed request a meeting, inside Anor Londo to his great relief. Not many individuals would dare ask for an audience with someone at this time of the day, but he didn't sleep very often anyway. And Queyla knew that.

It had been one time.

He strode the halls of his beloved city, giving nods to those whom kept their guard posts efficiently and corrected those that were lacking. Queyla must have just arrived, because he hadn't known of her presence until now. He had doubled the guards since the last incident, and they worked harder at their jobs as a whole now. If only he could preserve them in such a watchful state.

He arrived at the room she had been granted. Quaint, by Anor Londo standards, but extravagant by any other. The door was open just a crack, but he knocked on the door anyway, trying to be as quiet as possible. She answered after a few seconds, leaning on the door.

"There you are. I wondered at whether your time could be spared, Captain."

Ornstein coughed and pointedly looked straight past her into her room.

The Daughter of Chaos giggled. "I assume my state of dress is at fault?"

"My Lady, your 'state of dress' leaves little to the imagination. Shall I wait for you to clothe yourself?"

She laughed, and he swore the temperature rose. "This, indecent? My Captain, you should visit Izalith one day." An excited orange light glowed dimly behind her eyes.

Ornstein tensed up. The Daughters of Chaos were the most powerful pyromancers to be seen, under the Witch herself of course, but their raw power wasn't their most dangerous aspect. The Daughters were younger than the Witch by only a negligible amount of time. They were powerful, ancient beings, despite appearing differently.

"What is it that you wanted, Queyla?"

She pouted slightly. "To business so soon? Can I not invite thee in?"

He hesitated. It was rather rude to stand stiffly outside…

"Well…"

"Wonderful! Come in!" She took hold of his arm and escorted him inside, shutting the door behind them. "I bring news for your Lord."

Ornstein straightened his shirt. "Why not appear to the Great Lord directly?"

"I know he trusts thee and, to be frank, I enjoy this much more." She made a show of closing the curtains.

Ornstein crossed his arms.

She laughed quietly. "Spare me, Dragonslayer!" She drew close, and he was reminded of the last time…

Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, and he felt the temperature climb. "Must I cook thee to remove thine shirt?"

Ornstein's mind buzzed with strategy. This was as much a game as any politics were. The means to get there were different was all. If he wanted her information, he'd have to either impress her or play by her rules.

He scowled slightly and did it.

"Hmmm…" She traced a scar on his collarbone. "You see, my Mistress has heard of what troubles your Lord most; the First Flame. Without it, the Age of Fire would surely end."

He had seen it once before, a glorious pyre of epic proportions. Its connection to this Age remained a mystery to him, but he had heard from Lord Gwyn that it was slowly shrinking and spluttering.

"And what does your Mistress plan to do about such a thing?" He put his hands on her back, and was rewarded with another temperature increase.

She began tracing another scar, this one running from his chest to the base of his neck. An involuntary shudder ran through him. That had been a farewell present from a Dragon during the war. "She shall save thee, of course…" Her finger prodded a scar, and it suddenly flared up in heat.

Ornstein's head snapped up, pupils shrinking. He was in the war.

Wounded, dying everywhere.

Incredible noise.

Dirt in his lungs.

Claws pierce him to the spine.

He found he was disentangled from Queyla, body shaking with adrenaline. Her face was passive, eyes watchful.

He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing unsuccessfully. Giving up, he snatched his shirt off the floor. "I don't believe I want anything from thee. We're done here."

"It's my Mother, not I, extending her hand Captain." She said to his back, "And I believe all could benefit from a Second Flame." He felt her hand on his shoulder and he flinched. "Pass that on to your Lord."


	5. Chapter 5

"Do you really think that was wise of the Great Lord? I feel as though the rest of us worked harder for this status." Ciaran combed her bangs out of her face. She was perched of Gough's shoulder as he picked his way through the trees, careful not to damage them.

He looked over to her and laughed. "Differing loads upon differing shoulders, I should think. Recall that thine skills were honed early."

"Yes. And to become a Knight of Gwyn, Artorias was eaten by a dragon."

"A mighty task."

They broke the tree line at last, and Gough strode into Ten-stones. There was a small crowd across the clearing, Artorias visible in the middle. He had abandoned his shirt under the summer sun, and was straining at something. As they drew closer, Ciaran stood up to get a better angle.

A tall dark-haired woman had her arms crossed nearby. "You should be resting, Artorias. They could harness the horses for this."

As she finished her sentence, there was a loud ripping noise as Artorias tore a tree stump out of the ground with his bare hands. "Time waits for no man!"

"And I am afraid neither can we!" Gough boomed as he approached. Ciaran couldn't help but notice the recent scars were still prominent across his muscular bronzed abdomen as he turned to face them. What she didn't see was Serafina looking intently at her.

Artorias brushed the dirt off of his hands. "Serafina, this is Hawkeye Gough and Lord's Blade Ciaran, Knights of Gwyn!"

She stepped forward and laid an arm over his shoulders possessively. "I hear that you two saved this one in Oakbridge. He's often biting off more than he can chew."

Artorias shrugged. "I'm hungry."

Gough laughed and bowed to Serafina. "I am mightily pleased to make thine acquaintance, fair lady." Ciaran hopped off of his shoulder at the lowest point of his bow.

"Artorias actually…lasted a surprising amount of time against the dragon."

Serafina scowled and Artorias rubbed his wolf's head. "That's because Sif was there with me!"

Gough grinned. "If you wish, he may accompany thee today."

Serafina tilted her head. "Accompany? To where?"

The giant spread his massive arms. "Why, to the glorious city of Anor Londo of course."

Ciaran blew the stubborn bangs out of her yellow eyes. "As a Knight, he's got to have training."

Artorias grinned lopsidedly and scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Tell that to the dragon."

Ciaran planted her hands on her hips. "I don't believe that you had the opportunity to. You were lacking…the breath necessary."

Artorias chuckled. "Ah, but I stand where the dragon fell."

She quirked an eyebrow. "I doubt the Great Lord will wish his daughter to continue to patch you up, so you need training."

Serafina gave him a little push. "Go on already, and get yourself a shirt! I'll be here when you get back."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"That was slow."

"These are new to me, I haven't quite worked out the balance yet."

Steel rang on steel as Artorias's new greatsword clashed with Ornstein's spear, and the captain flicked the weapon off. He snorted. "The weapons have been created especially for thee. Their balance is not in question."

Artorias grinned. "I meant _your_ balance, captain."

He put on a quick burst of speed, kicking one of Ornstein's legs out from under him and bumping into him with his greatshield.

He fell to the ground, and Artorias straightened up. His celebratory grin was cut short when the captain spun to his feet and disarmed him in one smooth motion. He followed that up by driving his foot into his stomach, doubling him over and bringing the flat of his spear down on his back, flattening him.

"I was humoring thee. Thine enemy shan't forgive thee as swift as I."

Ciaran shook her head. "He's going to die."

Gough shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I wager not." The giant let his eyes wander over the courtyard to rest upon a small group of humans speaking softly to one another.

"Hmm." he rumbled. "Ciaran, you don't suppose we should look into that after that unfortunate event?" He looked over to her, but her place was empty.

In fact, she was poised atop a wall nearby to the men, who had their heads ducked and faces turned away from the rest of the courtyard. A warning sign for Ciaran in any case, but the fact that they were humans conspiring so soon after the assassination attempt was a major red flag. She pressed her body flat against the roof, angling an ear out just slightly over the edge.

"…appeared again last night, right under the forge. I saw it myself, I can attest to it being real."

"She was there?"

The first man furtively rubbed his head and looked around, only seeing Gough apparently dozing. "Not really, I mean not in the flesh…look, I'm just a man. But it…it really—"

The third man spoke in a whisper. "It was Velka, plain as your nose."

There was a barely perceptible sensation of power, dark and foreboding, in that name. Ciaran was sensitive to that sort of thing, and she felt goosebumps rise on her arms. She lifted herself up carefully and let herself inspect the man who experienced this entity. Having memorized his face, she slipped away quietly. It wouldn't do to confront them now and alert whoever was associated with them.

A short while later, Gough woke from his nap to find the Lord's Blade back next to him. "You should have woken me."

"You looked comfortable."

He grunted and indicated the area where the men had stood. "Were they scoundrels after all?"

"It seems so. They appear to be getting visits from someone calling herself Velka."

"Velka? Hmm. That sounds rather familiar."

"I'm looking into it."

"Mmm." The giant was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "This is happening in the manling towns, yes?"

"At least in one particular one. I haven't pinpointed which one yet, but Velka is supposed to appear under a forge."

Gough nodded absently.

Ciaran gestured to the newest Knight who narrowly blocked a spear sweep with his shield. "Artorias has lived amongst men for his entire life. Maybe…he could help?"

The Hawkeye was startled out of his reverie. He stared at her, then began to laugh. It wasn't a derisive laugh, just one of surprised merriment. "You want to work _with_ someone! In the same area as thee? At the very same time?" He laughed again, clutching his sides.

Ciaran crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, blowing her bangs out of her face. "Never mind, you're right. I'm a lone wolf after all, just like the rest of the Lord's Blades." She turned to go, but Gough caught her arm, his enormous hand enveloping half of her body in the process.

"No, no, goodness no! I'm glad to hear you say that!" He sidled closer. "You may be a lone wolf, but it appears as though Artorias knows how to handle wolves."

Ciaran scowled up at him. "Gough. I told you not to bother to play matchmaker on me. Just because you managed to pair half the scullery crew together doesn't give you rein to try it out on me."

The giant leaned back with a satisfied smile. "Now who uttered a word about matchmaking?"

She turned and stalked away with a small frustrated noise. "Just forget it!"

A few minutes later found Ciaran in her chambers. It was at the top of a tower close by to the main citadel. She dismissed Gough from her mind as she sought out her records. Every servant had a record, including a hometown and a portrait. She never forgot a face, and now all she needed to do was match a face to a location, and then the real job could begin. An hour into the work, it occurred to her to alert her Lord to her mission. She was given a bit more free rein in coming and going due to the nature of her work, but she thought Gwyn would like to know. After all, it was his assassination attempt she was trying to avenge. She hadn't gone very far when she crossed paths with Gough, who was moving with unusual speed.

"Is there a fire, Hawkeye?"

The giant turned to her with a happy exclamation. "There you are; I've been looking for thee!"

"You didn't think to look in my chambers?"

"You move chambers every so often."

She waved her hand dismissively. "What was it you were saying?"

"Ah, yes!" He moved closer, dropping his voice to a low boom. "I've discovered which town the man saw Velka at."

"What? How?"

"I asked the man. Nicely."

Ciaran rubbed the bridge of her nose. "He's sure to alert his town now!"

"I placed him in a guarded room."

"A cell?"

"A guest chamber. There are two knights outside the room at all times."

She groaned. "Alright. Since our cover is blown, I may as well have a 'talk' with him." She set off at an angry, clipped pace. Gough followed.

"But surely with the man here, he cannot alert his companions?"

She shook her head. "What do you think they'll do when he doesn't come home tonight?"

The giant hummed. "I hadn't thought of that."

A Berenike knight and a silver knight stood on either side of the door, and the first saluted. "Your 'prisoner' is in here, looking entirely too comfortable."

"Thank you, Giroldus. I intend to change that." Ciaran turned to Gough. "Inform Gwyn of the situation, there's no way you'll fit in here." She didn't say that he was also virtually incapable of intimidation, somewhat coming off as a big stuffed animal to those who didn't know what he was capable of.

Almost immediately after he left, there were sounds of a struggle from inside.


	6. Chapter 6

"As one of…Gwyn's knights, you'll have responsibilities to the kingdom." Ornstein held open a door, letting Artorias into a chamber that saw little to no public access. A horrible scream issued from somewhere inside the humid chambers. "Welcome to the Executioner's chambers."

Artorias wrinkled his nose at the smell. "What would possess me to come here willingly?"

The captain's face was stone. "Duty. The most important thing a man can serve." He knocked on a heavy wooden door. "Smough, are you here?"

There was silence for a moment, followed by a pained sound, and heavy footsteps could be heard approaching the door from a ways off.

"Ah, Executioner Smough. We had an unfortunate meeting recently."

Ornstein didn't look at him. "That seems to be a most popular experience."

The door was flung open to reveal the executioner. The man was incredibly muscled and had perpetual dark circles under his half-lidded eyes. Artorias got the impression that he spent much more time working on his body than his mind or spirit.

The big man looked down on them both and grimaced in the imitation of a smile. "Well, well, well. If it isn't my two favorite _Knights_." He spat the last word out, and his smile twitched. "Come in, I was just in the middle of supper."

Smough's dinner turned out to be a rather plain looking cut of meat and bread. What made Artorias's stomach churn was the audience the man had. He barely recognized the three men as those that he had captured by the gate the other day. They were covered with bruises but virtually unshackled. The only instrument appeared to be an iron wrought collar set into the wall. They had inward-facing spikes on them that could be adjusted so as to fit a neck. The spines were adjusted so that they touched the flesh of their necks only very slightly. They were also set into tracks on the wall, allowing adjustment for height. These were all adjusted so that the men had to keep their knees slightly bent to avoid being punctured.

"You brought them out to watch you eat? Do you not feed them?"

The huge man settled at the table and picked up the rare meat with his hands. "I make sure to feed and water them twice a day, as my Lord requests." He bit into the meat, its juice running down his hands and face. He swallowed noisily and wiped his hands on his pant legs. "That's what makes this a lousy torture chamber if you ask me." He gestured to the closest man. "Isn't that right, manling?"

The man stared vacantly at the opposite wall and shook with fatigue.

"The only torture I give them is to…make them stand up for themselves." An unpleasant smile split his face.

It dawned on Artorias; these men were kept at this crouched position to induce fatigue. Any attempt to lean against the wall or do anything other than half-crouch with one's neck anything but ramrod straight would result in their necks being stabbed. Looking at their trembling forms, he wondered how long they had been made to do so for.

He turned to Smough, who was sucking the remnants of his meal off of his fingers. "How can you do this to them?! This is inhumane!"

The Executioner leaned over the table and took a crunching bite of his bread. "I am not human, you filth."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The man, who was called Jekob as Ciaran found out, stared at her with wide eyes and held his bloody nose as he sat with his back against the bed. She had her back to him, and was making a show of examining her knife. She hadn't done any more than flip him over a table and punch him in the nose, and had no plans to kill him, but he didn't need to know that.

"T-the Hawkeye said we w-would just have a talk!" The man's voice was nasally as he covered his nose to stop the moderate bleeding. It looked a lot worse than it was. She mentally patted herself on the back.

"Aren't we talking, Jekob?" She whirled around to him and fixed him with the icy stare of her mask as she stood up a chair that had been knocked over in the earlier ruckus. She was at his side faster than the man would've liked, hand gripping his shoulder tightly. "Just two _friends_ enjoying casual conversation about _treason_?"

He scrambled, scooting away against the bed. "Treason?! I-I don't know what you mean!" He got up and tried to make a break for the door, but found she was already in front of him. She lashed out with a high kick to his chest, and fell back into the chair she had just stood up.

The Lord's Blade gripped his arms tightly. "Listen Jekob, I admit I don't care much for your kind. But what do you hope to gain through betrayal that the Great Lord Gwyn has not already granted mankind?"

"Me? I'm naught but a h-humble farmer, m'lady! I do alright for meself! You just don't understand—"

"Then _make me_ understand, Jekob."

The man nervously cleared his throat. "Some of us…aren't doing so well. It…it might be…difficult for you to see that from these heights is all."

She hadn't quite expected the forlorn note in his voice. Her grip relaxed. "The human population in Anor Londo is surely satisfied?"

Jekob rubbed his shaved head. "Yes, but most of us don't live in here." He had gained more confidence after seeing the change in her. "And New Londo is doing…alright, I think. But all the outlying towns…they're seeing some real trouble these days."

She stared intently into his eyes. These were not the eyes of a savage, to her surprise. She took a moment to straighten the man's collar, then walked over to the bedside table to grab a cloth. "How does Velka fit into this?"

A nervous look came over the farmer. "That one is stirring up a right mess, she is. Talkin' to the impoverished of revenge and the like."

She handed the cloth to Jekob. "Explaining the previous incident."

He nodded and dabbed at his nose.

She thought for a moment and left the room, pausing in the doorway. "I…apologize, Jekob. You're free to go."

He stood hurriedly. "Just please be gentle with them, they just want to protect their home."

"So do I, Jekob. So do I."

As the door closed, she dismissed the guards and found that Artorias was leaning against the wall with them. She felt a twinge of shame thinking that he may have heard her terrorizing the man, but one of the useful functions of the mask was that it obscured one's expressions.

He gave her a little smile. "You did the right thing at the end there."

"You've been here…?"

"Long enough."

Once she had composed her face, she removed the mask and held it under her arm. "I'm surprised you didn't come crashing in, given your background."

"I had faith in thee."

She was surprised even more at the thrill that fluttered through her at his words. What was coming over her?

Ornstein appeared around the corner. "We've waited long enough. There are some…"

He trailed off as a stunning figure made her way down the hall. Ciaran immediately identified her as Queyla, a Daughter of Chaos. Most beings of her status would require a bow and an address, which were not Ciaran's forte, but the folk from Izalith were an oddly loose sort and asked for none of that. She simply nodded and received a nod back.

She wore a very dark maroon dress that fit snugly around her hips and cut off at her shoulders. Intricate gold bracelets on each wrist and a fine golden choker around her neck complimented her dark hair and eyes. Everything about her walk suggested beauty and confidence. She stopped before Ornstein as if no one else existed and clasped her hands in front of herself.

"I wanted to apologize for the other night, Dragonslayer. It occurs to me that I was perhaps too…much."

Artorias looked to Ciaran and made a gesture suggesting they move off a ways. When they had escaped earshot, he bent down to her level and spoke in a low tone. "And who is _that_?"

The Lord's Blade raised an eyebrow. "See something you like?"

He ignored her comment. "She must be important to talk to Ornstein in…the way that she is."

The Daughter of Chaos had her hands pressed against the Captain's chest and had a smoldering light in her eyes.

"Oh, she's important all right. That's Queyla, Daughter of Chaos, and Sixth Witch of Izalith." She widened her eyes for emphasis. "And she really, _really_ wants the prestigious Captain Ornstein as a bedfellow."

He chuckled. "In that case," He gave a mock bow and gestured down the hall. "Shall we?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh how dark a day when the slaughter of the sinless is celebrated."

"I don't think they see the real picture, Mistress." Serafina kneeled before the stone door, her long dark hair fanned out behind her. Candlelight illuminated the ranks of humans on either side of her.

"Precisely the issue." The voice from the impossible space behind the door croaked. There was a scraping sound against the back of the door. "Gwyn has blinded thee with his 'splendor', and his air of pompous superiority. The Fire distracts all from the sins that doth permeate the shadows."

"We await your leadership, Mistress Velka."

"Blacken the skies, douse the Flame."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Tomorrow was the Festival of Kindling, the anniversary of the day the First Flame ushered in the current Age. The moon hung huge and bright in the sky, and Gough sighed at the simple pleasure of observing it as he strolled the halls of Anor Londo.

Giants like him had been crucial in building this glorious city. They had an affinity for architecture, forging, and creation in general. While rather slow on average, their understanding of mathematics and physics was unrivaled. Gough was an oddity in the sense that he used his skills to calculate the path of his massive arrows to terrible effect.

As well, the internal clock of giants was a bit different from all others. They could remain awake and aware for an impressive amount of time, days even, but would need to sleep for about the same length of time they spent awake.

The Hawkeye turned a corner, expecting to see Gwyndolin meditating before the moon as he so often did. Instead, he almost ran over Ornstein.

"You're not Gwyndolin."

The Captain looked up at him. "And neither art thou. You search for him too?"

"I like to talk to the lad. He has an intriguing perspective."

He shook his head slightly and grunted. Gough did not have the kind of night vision that Ciaran's kind did, but it surpassed human sight. And what he could see with it surprised him.

"Great Lord, Ornstein! What's this?" He leaned down to inspect the Captain. "Your collar is up! Your shirt is untucked! Your…" He gasped. "Your hair is mussed!"

Ornstein made half-hearted attempts to fix the problems as they were pointed out to him, but gave up when it came to his hair. "I—I do appear to be a mess." He combed a strand of his red hair back. "But I suppose there aren't many out at this time of night to see me like this, so it matters little." He stumbled slightly and propped himself up with his spear.

The giant's jaw dropped. "Are you well?"

"I'm—I'm just tired is all. Exhausted really, and that simply won't do." He pulled himself up a bit straighter with visible effort. "I am Captain of the Guard, and I have a duty—"

"Go to bed, Ornstein. I shall look after the citadel."

"Nonsense Gough, I lead the…the Knights of Gwyn." He yawned massively and slumped.

The giant lifted him off of the ground. "And so it is my duty to make sure you can do thine job. To bed with thee!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I really see no sense in this struggling, Captain. Perhaps you could escape my grasp were you rested, but you are not fit to do so now, let alone lead!"

They were only a few doors away from Ornstein's chambers. It was slow going, as the giant was doing his best to keep from waking everyone.

"Enough Gough! The citadel needs watching, and if you are to do it then you should get to it!"

He looked down at his weary prisoner. "Truly?"

"Yes. I was on my way back anyway."

The Dragonslayer was let down gently. "That's the way, off with you!" He turned to go, but had second thoughts. "Ah, Captain. Dost thou still possess that fine pair of binoculars? I meant to repair them yesterday."

Ornstein had his back to his door. "It's inside, I believe, but you can't come in just—"

"Fear not! I am able to multitask." The giant made to push the door open, but the Captain made no motion to get out of the way.

"I'm afraid your project will have to wait, Gough. I…I am entertaining a guest."

"And I _have_ been so _entertained_." Queyla's voice floated out from the room, and the Hawkeye straightened up at it.

"Ah!" He grinned at Ornstein. "Then I shall leave thee be!" He chuckled to himself as he strode off with a spring in his step.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It was a bright night, and Gough's eyesight was adequate for the job. He stood atop a parapet, surveying the city beyond the citadel. There was still business running out there, but it was much lesser activity than that of the day. As most might have guessed the home of the Lord of Sunlight was most active during the day.

He checked the eastern face, noting the portion that he had built himself. Since this was the eastern side, it was built so that the rising sun would cast shadows depicting scenes of the Kindling. He ran his rough hand along an engraved column. He was older than many of the buildings here, and he wondered if he was perhaps too old for his profession.

As if to answer him, his sharp eyes were telling him something was wrong with the picture he was seeing. What was it? The moonlight cast strips of shadows like black capes behind the columns, the stylized borders on the top of the far wall adding their own interesting shapes.

Perhaps too interesting.

He had built part of this area, and could accurately draw the rest down to minute details from memory. That shadow should not look like that.

He ran some quick calculations in his head to determine the precise location of the offender. If he was correct, someone's head was poking out from behind a carving atop the far wall by a half foot. As he watched, the shadow reverted to its normal form so slowly that he again wondered if he were just old.

He drew his greatbow to be on the safe side and raised his voice.

"I have found thee out, and I believe you are aware of that. Please, let us do this quietly. There are people sleeping."

There was no answer in the clear night air, and he could almost feel the eyes of the silver knights nearby.

"If harm is thine intention, know that I rarely miss. But that would be rather rude, as we have not even yet introduced one another."

Shadows blurred, and there were two figures before him. They were approximately human-sized, and wore a familiar armor set and matching porcelain masks. The giant kept his bow drawn and pointed at the taller of the two, face grim.

"The Lord's Blades are forbidden from entering Anor Londo by the authority of the Great Lord." Six silver knights had surrounded the two, shields locked into place and swords at the ready. No one relaxed as the two raised their hands above their heads.

"Remain calm." The shorter of the two said.

"I'm impressed by your powers of observation, giant. It is fortunate that we did not appear as enemies."

Gough frowned. "Enemies or nay, I cannot permit thee here."

"Now now, Gough, is that polite?"

"It's more than you deserve." Ciaran had arrived in a similar manner with her hands hanging by her tracer hilts.

"If it isn't the loose thread. Where is your sweetheart Smough?"

"Almost as far from my favor as you. What are you doing here?"

"We missed you so." When this drew a sour look, the other one spoke. "There's some information you should be privy to."

"This is the best way to tell me?"

"You never write."

"You never visit."

They looked at each other, and the taller one spoke again. "And it's much more fun to do it this way. I've missed doing the Anor Londo crawl."

Artorias entered from behind them, shield up and greatsword drawn. "I heard some commotion, and I find we have guests! I would have changed." He was in a simple sleeveless shirt and long pants, sleepwear.

Both visitors looked over their shoulders. The shorter one spoke first.

"Ooh, who's the dashing one?"

"That's the new Knight, remember. He _is_ easy to look at."

"You could do better than Smough, Ciaran."

"Much better."

"If you find yourself with free time, Artorias…"

Ciaran drew her tracers. "Enough! Give me your information and be on your way!"

The two looked at each other again. "Darkness festers in New Londo."

"And has for some time."

"We would have warned you but, as you know, _most_ of our order is not welcome here."

Artorias furrowed his brow. "Truly? The Great Lord doesn't permit the _Lord's_ Blades in his city?"

The shorter one angled her chin up to look at him. "It's because we're too provocative."

Ciaran hadn't put her tracers away. "It's because we've become too clever for our own good. Now if that's all…"

"It is."

"We'll be seeing you soon."

Shadows danced, and the two sprang nimbly in and joined them. The silver knights formed a wall between where they had last been seen and the citadel, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Ciaran sheathed her tracers and began walking briskly. "Don't bother looking for them, they're long gone."

Artorias caught up with her. "Are all Lord's Blades like that?"

She raised an eyebrow as she tightened the straps on her armor. "Am _I_ like that?"

"Good point. You knew those two?"

"They sent those two on purpose," she huffed "we had somewhat of a rivalry."

"So I take it that your being chosen was not received well by the order?"

She gave a mirthless laugh. "You could say that."

He was quiet for a moment as they walked towards her chambers, striding only once for every two or so of hers. "I suppose that it doesn't matter what they believe. You've earned your place here."

"Doesn't matter?" heat crept into her voice and she stopped outside her door to face him. "I grew up amongst them, Artorias, they are my peers and basically my family! It wasn't just an easy decision to walk out on them! I still question my decision sometimes." She lapsed into silence suddenly, not originally intending to spill intimate details. There was just something about Artorias that loosened the tongue.

"Ciaran." He put one hand on her shoulder, and the other one her opposite once she didn't resist. "I understand what it's like to leave your family behind. Growing up was…difficult towards the end, but I'm sure you're aware of that. But the choices I made, I rethink often. I would be worried if you never had any doubts." He smiled endearingly, and she felt her heartbeat speed up.

"Well, I assume you've heard enough out of me. You likely have preparations to make." He turned to go.

"You're not getting off that easy, Artorias."

He looked back, eyebrows raised.

She crossed her arms, and the ghost of a smile touched her lips. "You need to prepare too. The best training is on the job, and we're leaving tomorrow night."


	8. Chapter 8

"They've invited us into Anor Londo herself for the festival today! We can get a fantastic seat at the amphitheater for the performance!"

Artorias was holding her hands, excitedly telling her about all the opportunities his new job had opened up. She did her best to smile and answer when necessary, but it was not easy in the least. Velka had commanded a strike on Anor Londo today, and there were actual armed troops willing to do so. There were a handful of knights from Baldur as well as a large band of mercenaries from the Great Swamp, twelve Astora knights and four hulking warriors from Berenike. That was just what they had for Anor Londo, and only for today. With Velka's favor upon them, success seemed likely.

But her lover was the piece that didn't fit in this mosaic.

It almost seemed like Gwyn was aware of what Velka planned to do, and had moved on a most difficult piece in this big game of chess. This invitation had excellent implications, allowing Velka's agents past the walls and into the heart of Anor Londo itself! But what use would that be if Artorias was right there when the curtain was raised? He had been an impressive combatant right from the start when he didn't have any official training, but ever since he was absorbed into that accursed citadel he had drastically improved.

"What of our neighbors, love? Were they not invited?"

"Hm?" He looked up from closing a pack. "Well…no. But I wager a word from one of Gwyn's Knights will open some doors."

"Wonderful! I'll just let them know."

Her smile faded immediately upon leaving their house. She made her way to the forge as fast as she could without looking conspicuous, and closed the door cautiously behind her. The blacksmith paused from examining a blade, and seeing who it was he pulled a lever under his desk.

There was a click and a section of the stone floor slid away to reveal stairs that descended into the darkness. She was halfway down the steps when she heard the sound of leather straps being tightened, chain tinkling, and metal plates clicking against one another. She entered the hollowed out cavern to find their strike force wordlessly armoring up. They all harbored doubts about being able to penetrate the massive walls of Anor Londo, but none about whether they should or not.

"We have an opportunity, men."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Ciaran, may I ask a question?"

"I don't see why not, Giroldus." she was scanning the surrounding brush, keeping her voice down.

The speaker was one of the handful of humans that Ciaran had selected to investigate Jekob's claims. "The knight who stood beside me waiting for you during that man's interrogation, Artorias if I recall, when did he become one of Lord Gwyn's Knights?"

"When he almost gave his life killing a dragon. He was nearly bitten in half."

"Nasty business. Even if he had been, he would still be a head taller than me."

They were a few miles away from Ten-stones, where Jekob had indicated Velka to be present at multiple points. The plan was mostly reconnaissance. If things got ugly, the presence of human troops should appeal to the townsfolk more than giant sentinels.

"How was he granted knighthood for such an act when I did the same not two weeks ago?" The Berenike's brow was furrowed in consternation.

"Keep in mind you only killed a fledgling."

"He was a flat tooth regardless, also I have felled an ancient one in the past. Remember Bayorth?"

They really shouldn't be talking this close to the target. Even though Giroldus was a human, he had proven himself loyal on all counts so far with a fairly impressive track record. Sometimes his pride cast an even larger shadow. "Don't forget that Gough downed that one first."

"Does that not count for something? I slew him without being bitten in half as well."

Ciaran suspected Lord Gwyn's reasoning behind his choice ran far deeper than just dragon slaying, but decided to remain silent on the matter. "You're more valuable where you are, Giroldus."

"You think so?" He pushed a branch out of his way.

"Yes. If the humans see that one of their own is consistently present in Anor Londo, they should be appeased."

He stopped for a moment to absorb that, then caught up again. "One more thing, m'lady. Are we such a danger to Gwyn? Humans, I mean."

She had frozen against a tree, eyes locked on the town.

The town was completely deserted.

"Your kind tends to surprise the others in obscure ways, Giroldus."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Casper was in the middle of buying a meal in a tavern when it happened. There was screaming in the streets, and the sound of the alarm bells being rung. He had hoped to enjoy the festival today, but it seemed fate had other plans. He paid for his meal, but left it on the table and drew his sword.

The streets were utter chaos, with all manner of beings running this way and that. The closer one got to Anor Londo herself, the more diversity there was. The population was mostly humans at the farthest reaches. He watched as channelers focused and teleported themselves away with their sorceries and shook his head. They would be no help.

He made sure that the Way of White emblem was in prominent view on his tunic. There would be soldiers in this area soon, and they would be hunting for the perpetrators. He just wished he had brought his armor or shield with him, but it was supposed to be a celebration. The sword would have to do.

He closed his eyes and said a brief battle prayer, trying his best to tune out the sounds of various races screaming. His eyes were cloudy, the look of a blind man, and had been since birth. He was far from being blind however. Spirits floated in the air of the city like specks of dust suspended in water, and they guided him to one of the offenders.

A man in tattered rags was slowly making his way against the main direction of the crowd. Casper doubted the ghosts at first, but focused beyond the man's rags. He wore hardened leather armor underneath, and a pair of swords were concealed as well. All of these held a dark aura that repulsed him. He grasped his sword in both hands and approached at a grim pace.

The man seemed to realize he had been found out, discarding his rags and drawing his swords in one motion.

They met amidst the crowd, blades ringing. Casper was a large man, but it quickly became apparent that his opponent was the faster of the two. Before the man found this out as well, Casper played it as though he was slower than he actually was, leaving a wide opening after a two handed swipe.

The man darted in for the killing stroke, but Casper quickly continued the motion, spinning around and lopping off his head in a powerful chop. He witnessed the spirit leave his body behind.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

A Berenike knight smashed the back of a silver knight's knee, causing the soldier to fall to his good one. The other Berenike gave a powerful upward stroke to his chin, sending him sprawling on his back. They hammered his helm until only crushed metal and ugly stains remained.

"FREEDOM!"

The call was rallied by a group of Astora knights atop a nearby tower, only to be silenced by a greatarrow fired by a silver knight from a tower opposite the street, impaling one against a pillar. The Berenikes formed up, bracing against each other and using the turtle maneuver with their shields. Two greatarrows thudded against the immense shields, the second one barely penetrating.

"The TOWER! TAKE the TOWER!" The captain of the Astora knights indicated the silver archers, and the mercenaries made a dash for it. The heaviest armor amongst those from the Great Swamp was merely chain mail, and that was rare. Their advantage was that they were fast, agile, and that Anor Londo was an excellent location for parkour. A mercenary launched a fireball into the tower while climbing the outside, and it splashed over the reflective armor of the knights inside, demonstrating that the Great Swamp also held one of the largest populations of pyromancers around. The Baldur knights couldn't make the climb, but they were impressive swordsman. They made an outward-facing ring around the base of the tower at the instruction of the Astora captain to prevent reinforcements from arriving.

Serafina had been given special instructions. The guards would be looking for humans, but would likely ignore someone of her proportions. Before this had all gone down, she had excused herself from Artorias to 'use the wash room' and signaled the troops that had stowed away inside various carts.

Her mission was to capture the district tower. There were five of these in Anor Londo, and each oversaw equal area around the actual Citadel itself. There were internal walls allowing each district to be defended against one another in the case of invasion. The idea was to gain control of a district and defend it. Velka would send more troops once she was sure they were in a good position. Even now, Serafina felt the weight of Velka's observation upon her shoulders, but her power as well, favoring her. The sensation was not unlike that of feeling a giant laying his hands on your shoulders from behind. You couldn't actually see Velka, but you could feel her presence.

She had actually gone to the wash room, but only to don armor underneath her dress and place knives within her sleeves. She strode up the steps to the district tower, her body shaking with adrenaline. She was capable enough to get by with a weapon, but likely nowhere near the skill of the soldiers housed within here. The attack had happened as far as they could afford to be away from the tower in an attempt to draw the troops out of there.

As she cautiously navigated the halls, she found several guard posts empty, and thanked Velka for her foresight. There should only be a few more flights of stairs…

She turned a corner and came face to face with two giant sentinels. They had their backs to her originally, but heard her involuntary gasp and turned to face her.

"Lady? You cannot be in here."

Her mind raced. They were both a head taller than her, in heavy armor and armed with halberds. She would be finished quickly.

"I—" She grasped at straws for words, her mind blank in fear.

The other giant faced the first. "She needs safe place."

That got her mind going again. "Yes! Yes, there…there are humans! Humans, all over out there! Protect me, please!"

They looked at each other uneasily. "We cannot leave tower, lady."

She allowed her actual desperation to seep into her voice. "Please! Please, they're right behind me! You won't have to go far, they should be right outside the tower by now!"

"She would be safe here."

"But we guard tower…"

"Still guard tower out there. No one gets in." She got the impression that he was smiling at her behind his helm, and she looked away, trying not to get attached.

"We go. Stay here."

They were off, stomping down the stairs at an impressive clip, and she hurried over to the numerous levers and wheels. Each district tower was supposed to have mechanisms in place to control various gates and such in their given areas. Thankfully, they were labelled, if messily. She ran to the window and checked on the sentinels' progress. They had just left the tower, and were scanning the surrounding area for humans. Any second now, their duty would drive them back inside. She pulled a large lever with immense effort, throwing all her body weight against it. There was a grinding noise, and a steel frame fell across the entrance to the tower, being followed by a second and third in quick succession. A series of bars locked them tightly into place.

She made her way across the room, and blew on the alarm horn. Usually, that would bring the soldiers running, but she used a pattern instead that meant nothing to them. Within five minutes, the main invading force was charging the base of the tower where two confused sentinels stood to face them. They braced themselves against the tower and brought their enormous shields to bear. They didn't last long against the horde, bleeding against the first steps of the tower.

This day belonged to Velka.


	9. Chapter 9

One.

Two.

Three. Four. Five.

Six.

The seventh mercenary was bisected at the waist by Artorias's greatsword and sent flying against the already stained buildings. There had been a surprising amount of troops pouring into the captured district of Anor Londo over the past weeks, and they had made disheartening progress. Just a few days ago, they had extended their reach into the surrounding burgs like a dark weed. Just being around their weapons and armor made Artorias weak in the knees.

But he couldn't stop fighting.

Serafina was in that district somewhere, surely afraid for her life.

If she was still alive.

He lifted his sword with great effort and braced his shield against the cobblestones. He had been at this for hours, and still hadn't managed to get farther than the actual gates of the district.

Three Baldur knights dropped to the stones nearby, and swished their fine swords to display their prowess before darting in. He felt the draining burn of their auras, and managed to drag his shield into the way of the first. The second got inside his guard, but was grabbed around the waist by Sif's maw. Artorias saw the wolf look at him, and he spoke between clenched teeth.

"Kill, Sif."

The dark auras seemed to have no visible effect on Sif, evident as he crushed the man's torso in his jaws.

The third knight had circled around, and managed to slash at his leg. The armor was excellent, and managed to take the brunt of the blow. Sif leapt over his exhausted master and brought the man to the ground like a deer. He tore his throat out quickly.

The remaining knight decided it would be best to retreat, but Artorias cut his legs out from under him with a sweeping chop and finished him with a downward stab into the street.

His heartbeat was loud in his ears and he was sweating profusely under the sun. All around him lay the bodies of the slain. Some of the blood was his, but most of it was theirs.

Another day of failure.

"I'm sorry my love."

He hefted his weapon and shield, making tracks back to the forward command center, on the other side of no man's land. The only sound was that of the arrows bouncing off of the cobble.

Inside the neighboring districts, the houses and marketplaces had been evacuated and converted into bunkers and healing stations. Silver knights were bustling around here and there, tending to their wounded and looking over plans. They made way for him as he dragged his tired feet. Sif propped him up on one side, and he leaned on him.

"Sir Artorias!" A silver knight was flagging him down. "The giants have finished your pet's weapon, sire." He removed a greatsword from a fine cloth and presented it to Artorias. "A fine blade."

Artorias indicated Sif with his head. "It's for him, not me."

Sif took the sword hilt in his jaws with a snort.

"And he's my partner, not my pet."

"My apologies, sir."

He continued on his way, admiring Sif's new sword. "It _is_ a fine sword, don't you think?" He received a _whuff_ from Sif in return. "It's high time you got one. Do you recall how to use it?"

Sif tossed the sword in the air, catching it in his jaws again with little apparent effort.

Artorias's chuckle was forced. "Show off."

Gwyn's four knights sat around a table. There were a few of Havel's battle clerics attending to Artorias, who had apparently taken quite a few arrows in his back.

Ornstein rubbed the bridge of his nose, dark circles under his eyes. He was in full armor, save for his helmet at the moment, and was at all times these days. "Very well, what of the surrounding burgs?"

Ciaran's arms were crossed. "Looking worse. It seems like the area closest to the invaded district is solidly under human control, while the far side remains as it is. Regardless of position though, everyone is uneasy."

Ornstein sighed. "Gough? The catapults?"

The giant nodded. He hadn't slept at all these past weeks, but that didn't affect his kind the same way. "I have destroyed all catapults I have seen them building within their district." He scratched his chin. "I could also see into the burgs from the tower, and they appeared to be fortifying their settlements. I exploited the structural weaknesses of their buildings and set them back."

"Good work Gough. Artorias?"

The fourth Knight winced as an arrow was pried out of his shoulder. "I haven't yet broken past their district gates." He threw his glass against the nearby wall, where it shattered noisily. "Not even past THEIR BLASTED GATES!" He bowed his head into his hands. When he spoke again, his voice was raw. "She's in there somewhere, Ornstein. Whether she's alive…or…or in pieces, I—" He clenched his fists and stared at his hands, slowly unfolding them. "I'm failing her."

Ornstein was quiet for a moment. "Then give up."

"What?" Artorias looked up, uncomprehending.

"I said give up. Apparently you can't do it." The Captain's face was stone as he stood, his eyes sharp as flint. He walked around to where Artorias sat. "It seems as though your instatement to this team was a waste of time and resources." Gough started to say something, but Ornstein silenced him with a wave of his hand. He stood over the last Knight, looking down on him with a cold stare. "It seems," he pointed to his chest "that the Great Lord overestimated the strength of your resolve."

Artorias shot to his feet, fists clenched and blue eyes flashing dangerously.

The Dragonslayer didn't alter his expression. "Shall I have it written that during the siege of Anor Londo, a Knight of Gwyn turned against his kingdom? The penalty for treason is a grisly fate."

His fists shook, and there was a tense few seconds of furious stares before Artorias stormed out, striking the wall on his way.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The silver knights were holding guard over the quiet border. The sentries were keeping careful watch, the reserves were trying to rest, and the clerics healed as well as they could.

And Artorias was getting a drink or five.

He had traveled out of the citadel in a hurry, trying to burn off his anger with a walk, telling Sif to stay as he trotted after him. He hadn't quite known where he was going, eventually ending up at a tavern at the end of Anor Londo that was farthest from the invaded district, butted up right against the outer wall.

Here he sat, trying to drown his misery in another pint. He had claimed a small table that was tucked away in the back, with its own little niche in the wall. It provided a sense of privacy in the dim evening light. The weak lanterns allowed him to remain anonymous, and thus evade the attention of the other customers. The atmosphere was quiet tonight with the news of the siege.

Artorias stared into his beer and half-heartedly swirled it around. Money wasn't a problem for him anymore, and was far from his main concern at the moment. He drained the pint in a long swallow and groaned, laying his head against the table.

"He didn't mean it, you know."

Artorias flinched, knocking two pints off of the table. Ciaran was seated across the table, a cloak obscuring her armor and face.

He stared at the table in a state of despair. "No, he's right. I'm not worth your time. Not worth anyone's time."

"That's not true, and I think you know it." She scooted closer. "Ornstein thinks that the best of people can be seen in a trial by fire. He was trying to push you to prove him wrong."

He regarded the empty cups. "Well, I guess I failed at that too."

She sat next to him now. "You say that like none of _us_ have ever failed."

He looked at her with questions in his eyes.

"I…I've killed a lot of people to get where I am today, Artorias." She fiddled with her hands. "Some were just obstacles, but others…" She shook her head. "I pushed too hard toward a single goal for a large portion of my life, never thinking of anything other than that. These days I'm realizing just how many opportunities I've let slip by."

Artorias looked sideways at her, and slid her a full pint, and was rewarded with a slight smile.

"Thanks." She took a pull from it, the drink significantly larger for her. "And Ornstein, well. He won't say much about his past, but no one can really hide that from me. His mistakes costed lives, and still do. I know he fought like a demon in the Dragon wars and was almost crippled because of it. Only Gwyn's favor saw him out of it."

"And Gough?" He sipped on his drink.

"Gough doesn't make mistakes, all apparent mistakes are just another part of his master plan."

Ciaran's shrouded face and tone of voice were so serious that Artorias almost believed her. Then he realized the ridiculousness of her statement and began shaking with laughter. "H—he is th-the _real_ captain of Gwyn's Knights! Plotting, an-and conniving this whole time!" He clutched his side as he chuckled uncontrollably.

When he had settled down some, she lay her hand on his shoulder. "See? It's not all bad. I've been in a siege before, and I can tell you for a fact that you need to rest. After a time of nonstop fighting for—for your love, as romantic as that sounds, you'll be doing more harm than good."

His mind was a bit addled by the drink. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you should come back to the citadel. Come back, sleep, and spend the next day planning _only_." She shook his arm to silence his protest. " _Only planning._ Trust me; a well-placed strike will trump a weak misdirected multitude any day."

He nodded, with an expression that can only be found on those that are both deep in thought and drunk.

"Alright. Let's get out of here."

He grunted in reply, and stood rapidly, almost falling in the process. He reached out and braced himself against the wall. "I appear to be out of sorts."

"This way, Artorias."

He leaned on her, putting his weight on her shoulder, and almost brought them both to the floor.

"There's no way I'm carrying you there! Just let me guide you." She blew her bangs out of her eyes and put her hair in a ponytail. Taking his arm around the elbow, she pulled him haphazardly out the door and on the way to the citadel.

"If it makes you feel better Artorias, I'm pulling a reconnaissance in the captured district tomorrow. I'll keep an eye out for Serafina for you."

He mumbled something incomprehensible, but a tear rolled down his cheek and splashed against the paving stones.


	10. Chapter 10

Ciaran lay flat against a cobbled roof, crawling forward slowly. The sun was threatening to rise on the horizon, so her time was limited. She had successfully entered the captured district, but not without difficulty. She had to hand it to whomever was in charge, they ran a tight ship. She didn't dare take out a sentry and alert the whole lot of them. Pure reconnaissance today.

She began to think about Artorias, and their talk last night, but stopped herself. _You're on a mission, Ciaran._ After all, he was already attached and she was looking for his partner for the Great Lord's sake! She sighed softly to herself and crawled farther forward, peering over the edge. She had been telling the truth last night. Too much focus and time had been spent on work, she had never had time for a relationship. But Artorias…

 _You can't. He's spoken for. Do. Your. Job._

She tried to keep an emotional distance from Artorias, but his magnetism was intense. But if she truly cared for him, she knew she would have to try harder. He seemed happy with his current relationship, and she should respect that.

No matter how painful it was.

She scolded herself mentally. _As if, Ciaran. What experience do_ you _have in attracting a man?_ She slid closer to the edge of the roof and immediately froze.

There she was, Serafina.

Ciaran immediately pulled back. There had been no guard detail around her. She had appeared unharmed. What…?

A cold flow of suspicion ran up her spine. Shifting out again, she couldn't see her anymore. She cursed to herself and made her way to the next building. Serafina was walking down the street without any apparent worry amidst several humans who wore the armor that exuded that dark aura.

She could feel her suspicion being replaced by molten anger as she chatted with an Astora knight.

"He trusts you." She spoke under her breath from between clenched teeth, voice trembling with rage. "He trusts you with his life."

She hadn't expected this. Would Artorias believe her if she told him?

She halfheartedly reminded herself that she was just supposed to look around and report back, and she began backing up only to stop.

Her heart pumped at a hard angry pace. She recalled last night, at the tavern with Artorias. He was trying to stay positive, but the loss of Serafina was twisting him up inside.

And here she was.

And here was the enemy.

She gripped the hilts of her tracers, but her inner voice of reason interjected. _At least make sure she's truly the enemy. Don't let your feelings cloud your judgement._ She relaxed, concentrating on slowing down her heart rate. She would follow her for a bit.

As the hour wore on, she became increasingly convinced that Serafina had played them all for pawns. That was it.

Her anger had been molten, but it had since cooled and crystalized into razor sharp obsidian. She pulled her mask over her face. It had been a _suggested_ recon mission, after all.

She dropped into the courtyard as quietly as shadows falling at sundown. She actually managed to press against the wall directly behind a bulky Berenike that was leaning against the wall. She produced two thin knives, each about a foot and a half long with a width of only an inch. They were black, so as to eliminate reflection. It would be very difficult to part the heavy plated armor of the Berenike, so she didn't try to.

She quickly drove each knife upwards through the exposed area between the helm and chest piece on either side. Each blade slid smoothly up through the man's throat and into his brain, killing him instantly. She withdrew the blades swiftly, their thin profile allowing very little blood to flow from the wounds. He remained leaning against the wall, appearing asleep.

She set off in the direction Serafina had gone, performing a similar move on a mercenary who was trying to talk to the dead Berenike. Three more found gashes where their throats used to be.

The farther she got into the captured district, the more difficult it became to get by unnoticed. She was fueled by the thought of what Serafina was about to do to Artorias.

Finally, she saw her. She had stumbled upon a guard who had been "put to sleep" by Ciaran. As soon as her back was turned to the Lord's Blade, she snuck forward. Ciaran had thought of ending the woman, of course. She appeared important to this cause, however, and was definitely important to Artorias. She would have to be taken alive. She removed another blade, this one closer to a needle. It was laced with a sleeping venom, and as soon as she was within reach…

The rising sun, which had been spilling light over the area, immediately darkened. Serafina seemed to smoke, and time moved slowly. A blast of pure force exploded out from her, throwing Ciaran to her back. She rolled to her feet to see Serafina's armor become solid black and reflective.

"The Lord's Blade. Earlier than expected. What could have motivated thee so?"

The voice seemed to issue from Serafina's armor, and it vibrated with the voice of the deity.

Serafina turned, surprise etched across her face. She pulled a broad-bladed knife from her sleeve and faced Ciaran apprehensively. Her stance quickly became more aggressive as she recognized her attacker. "You. You're that…that _harlot_ that keeps making eyes at Artorias!" She slashed the knife through the air angrily. " _This_ is how the 'Great Lord' would fight his enemies? Sending a skulk to stab them while they aren't looking?" She scoffed. "Very honorable."

Ciaran slipped her stilettos away and brought out her tracers. She knew it was a bad policy to exchange words when you should be exchanging blows, but she couldn't help herself. "And sneaking into the city to attack during a day of celebration? How honorable is that?" She streaked forward, lining up a slash that would bleed terribly.

The black aura pulsed again, and Serafina's arm flew into place as if yanked there by a puppeteer, her knife deflecting the blow. Ciaran caught the reverberation from the strike, falling back before Serafina could retaliate.

It seemed as though Velka was at least assisting Serafina, moving the armor she was in. A shiny black helmet floated over and set itself on her head as she watched.

Ciaran brought her tracers up again, in time to deflect a deceptively heavy strike. She lashed out with a kick aimed at her opponent's throat, but the chest piece moved her back. "Very _honorable_ , Serafina! Very honorable, two against one!" A shockwave erupted from the armor, throwing her backwards. She lay on her back, dazed. That energy drained her like nothing else.

The legs of the armor set sped toward her, and Serafina raised her knife.

Just before things got even messier, a massive metal bolt slammed directly into her chest, swatting her to the ground.

"Not quite true, Ciaran."

Gough appeared, stepping over a small house at the edge of the courtyard. He was in full armor, striding slowly toward them both. He leaned over her, large green eyes visible through his helmet. "Are you well, Ciaran?"

Across the courtyard, Serafina climbed to her feet. She quietly picked up a longsword from a nearby corpse and sped toward that giant's exposed back.

Gough calmly nocked another shot and hit her square in the chest again, flattening her. He was still examining the Lord's Blade. "Did you end all of these men?" He extended a hand, helping her to her feet.

"Gough."

"Right. Of course." He turned back to Serafina. "Who might you be? I cannot see thee underneath thine helm."

Serafina began to speak, but Velka's voice suddenly drowned out all other noise. "I AM VELKA, AND SIN IS MY DOMAIN." The knife was engulfed in black smoke, and when it cleared there was a glittering rapier in its place. "I HAVE COME FOR YOUR LORD AND HIS COHORTS."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Artorias considered going back on his word, not for the first time that day, but kept to his promise. He would spend all day planning his next attack.

Gods, but this was against his instincts. Serafina was out there, he could feel it.

He pored over various battle reports brought to him by silver knights. They had managed to repel the invaders so far using the excellent district defenses, a similar approach to what the invaders were doing with their own district. It seemed to be a stalemate at the moment.

"What could break them? Rather, what would break _us_?"

At that moment, the doors were thrown open. They crashed against the walls, drawing looks from the staff bustling around the room and causing Sif to sit up.

A flood of silver knights and Havel's clerics swarmed in, yelling together in a great cacophony. Gough limped in, bow slung across his back. Dark blood ran down his legs from nasty-looking gashes and he breathed heavily.

Artorias shot to his feet, jogging over. "Gough! What happened? Where's Ciaran?" As he drew closer, he saw her limp body and the blood pooling in the giant's palms.

"She's…she's been harmed, Artorias." His voice sounded broken. "I should have helped more." His right leg collapsed, forcing him to take a knee while the clerics examined him, but his focus was on her relatively tiny body.

Artorias looked closer. She appeared to have been pierced clean through the chest two or three times.

His mind went into overdrive.

"Give her here, Gough. We can still save her!" He took her into his arms as carefully as his adrenaline-laced veins would allow. He turned and ran as fast as he could, making his way to the Sunlight Princess's chamber and mumbling prayers under his breath.

"Hold on Ciaran, gods, just hold on!"

He took the stairs four at a time, Sif trailing behind. Silver knights parted for him, seeing his need.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

She lay on the same table that Artorias had occupied not too long ago. Gwynevere had worked as quickly as she could, and had assured him that she would be fine with time. Artorias was sitting on the floor, leaning against the table, waiting for her recovery.

Ornstein shouldered the door open in full battle armor, helmet under his arm and spear in hand. He strode over to them, anger bleeding from his every movement. He slowed down as he approached the table, seeming to remember that Ciaran was resting. He laid a hand on her shoulder gingerly.

"They've made a dire mistake."

Artorias looked up at the captain. His face was furious and cold, his red irises practically glowing.

"They've hurt my men, and I'm going to purge every mother's son from this plane."

Despite Ornstein's original intentions, Ciaran was awoken by his outburst. She stirred weakly, and made a small noise. She flinched suddenly, caught in her last conscious moment, and started sitting up only to be pressed back down by Artorias.

"Easy, Ciaran." His mouth was quirked in a crooked smile, but his eyes showed concern. "Remember, you aren't wearing anything under this sheet."

She lay back down quickly, brushing her bangs out of her face. "How bad was it?"

Artorias feigned deep thought. "Well, it was essentially a rather nasty skinned knee." He smiled down at her. "I should like to see the remains of thine opponent."

Ciaran let out a long sigh. "No. No you wouldn't."


	11. Chapter 11

Velka's forces had started another offensive early in the morning in an attempt to catch the knights off their guard. As it was at noon, the battle at the district boundary was still raging. Havel lowered his binoculars, concern wrinkling his features. His first instinct was to serve the Great Lord on the field of battle, being one of the most loyal subjects in all his domain, but an idea had come to him recently. Perhaps the best way to serve his Lord wasn't the most obvious.

Casper entered the room behind him and stood silently a little ways off, waiting for acknowledgement. Havel waved him over. "How fared your mission?"

By way of answering, Casper emptied the enormous sack he had been carrying over his shoulder. Several foul-smelling pieces of armor and cloth spread over the floor. "I recovered as much of the invader's armor as I could. This should be quite enough for what we need."

Havel gave a mirthless laugh and clapped Casper on the shoulder. "You did well, my boy." His eyes stared into space, his expression somber.

Casper's cloudy eyes stared at him inquisitively. "Are you having second thoughts?"

Havel's expression hardened, his eyes coming back into focus. "No. This should have been done a long time ago, and I fear our Lord is distracted by the war and disillusioned by kindness to see the snake in his midst." He began sorting through the armor, settling on a large cloak. "Assemble my men."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"No."

"I know what I saw, Artorias."

"No, there must have been…perhaps…it—"

Gough laid a hand on the distressed knight's shoulder. "Easy now, Artorias. I can attest to Ciaran's claim. She never forgets a face." He rubbed his leg, where the wounds had scarred. "I can say with certainty that she is correct."

Sif followed him closely as he paced. "She couldn't though, maybe the armor is controlling her?"

Ciaran sincerely doubted it, but she kept her opinion to herself.

Ornstein slashed his hand through the air. "Whatever the situation, I'm sure that we can agree that this movement must be put down! We're wasting precious time and men the longer we wait." He put his helmet on, and picked up Artorias's from the table. "Are you with me?"

Artorias accepted the helmet. "If we see Serafina, leave her to me." He stared them all in the eyes, one at a time. "Agreed?" There were curt nods all around. "Alright. Let's show them the fastest way to the grave."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The sun was barely hanging onto the horizon as Havel's men suited up. There were scowls on the cleric's faces as they slipped the occult armor on. This would be a new experience for all in one form or another without their stone armor.

The bishop stood before them, and their mutters were silenced.

He said nothing for a while, just looking at his group. Most of his battle clerics were on the front lines, assisting the silver knights, but he had his most trusted with him tonight. They were more than fellow soldiers. They were practically family, some literally adopted, in Casper's case.

"Men. We've faced long odds many a time before tonight." There were nods and murmured agreements. "This night we face perhaps our most troubling odds. Long ago, our Lord was assisted in bringing about the Age of Fire by a dragon, a traitor to his own kind." He began walking around the room, addressing each person as he neared them.

"The Great Lord hoped for a future that would allow Seath the Scaleless to exist peacefully with us. Some of us can see otherwise, not being misled by kindness." He laid a hand on a cleric's shoulder. "It has been slow, quiet work, but we've finally got him. No longer will people be taken from their homes in the night, taken off of the very streets to serve the crazed dreams of a deranged mind!"

He drew even with Casper. "I'm informed that Seath has the audacity to abduct the handmaidens of Gwynevere herself!" Casper grimaced and gripped his sword tightly.

Havel had come full circle around the room. "To lay things out; we storm the Archives. It will be a hard crawl, and we'll likely face plenty of resistance. The Archives are full of channelers, not that any would lend their assistance in this siege." There were sneers and angry growls at that.

"The acts we are about to commit this night will be treasonous. Of that, there is no doubt." His eyes were intent. "If you are caught, you _will be killed_. Do _not_ allow yourself to be captured by Seath's forces. Be subtle about using miracles. Don't take off the invader's armor, we can't kill all of them. We may as well blame this on the invaders. Lastly, stay close." He hefted his massive dragon's tooth onto his shoulder. "We go to slay a dragon."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

There were channelers posted at every entrance to the Duke's Archives, but not in any great numbers. After all, the battle raged far away, down the mountain from here. Those posted at the side entrance learned that the battle had made its way to them when Havel's band crushed them against the wall.

"Good work, men. Remember, they can warp away when frightened, so you must slay them swiftly."

They began their run, battering down the double doors and sprinting into the immaculate hall. They were greeted by a horde of channelers combing through various tomes, speaking to each other in their odd, garbled tongue.

Before they could escape, Havel crushed one's skull with a swing as Casper ran another through. Chaos ensued as channelers began teleporting in and out, trying to figure out what was going on. Their confusion made for short work on the cleric's part. They left the white stones painted red and rushed inwards.

"This is odd, sir. I feel so light without the armor. This stuff is like paper!" A cleric leapt up several stairs, lopping a channeler's arm off and punching his throat in. His exhilaration was short-lived as he was hit with a soul arrow. He was staggered, but not badly hurt. Havel had blessed his band with a barrier that would lessen the bite of magic.

The channeler began to teleport away, but another cleric reached him first. He lifted him over his head and brought him down over his knee, breaking his spine with an audible snap.

Their path didn't stay easy, however.

They turned a corner, and were instantly bombarded with a flurry of soul arrows. Two clerics were overwhelmed, and fell. The rest scattered, taking cover behind bookshelves. This didn't help for long though, as the channelers simply warped to a position to continue bombarding them from above.

Just then, the windows up on that level shattered, and several figures rushed in, tearing into a half of the channelers. The rest panicked and vanished.

When the soul arrows stopped coming, Casper peered around the shelves.

A man in rough armor stood atop the balcony, bloodstained spear and shield in hand. He gave a snide laugh and waved to the clerics below. "Hey down there! If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to kill the Lizard without me."

Havel looked at Casper questioningly. "Is that…?"

Casper nodded. "Vaeldric."

"And his friends?" There were loud cheers and rude phrases drifting down from above.

"Assorted scoundrels."

Havel left cover and addressed the rabble. "We are the rebels, here to throw off the yoke of the Gods' oppression!" He spoke for the benefit of any troops that might be listening in.

Vaeldric squinted at him. "Uh huh. If you think labeling yourself as criminals is going to dissuade me, you're mistaken. It wouldn't be the first time I've been wanted." He tapped the side of his helmet. "I'm just here to see how well this place burns." With that, he conjured a fireball in his palm and tossed it into a nearby bookshelf which went up in flame.

Havel looked at Casper. He didn't care for Vaeldric or his associates, but they needed help, and Casper had stood up for Vaeldric before. They had already lost two good men, and didn't have many more to spare. Casper nodded, and Havel turned back to the group above. "Very well. You take the high path, and we'll take the low. Draw as much attention as you can."

Vaeldric stepped backward. "Crows take that, we don't answer to you. We've just got bones to pick." He disappeared from sight as his group moved on. "Hey! Lochlan, put those books down! You can't even read!"

Havel shifted his grip on the tooth. "Splendid. Onward men, nothing has changed."

The clerics caught a few channelers unaware, and slew them quickly. Casper parted a leg from one's body and stabbed through their chest while Havel swung upwards and caught another in the chin, throwing them up into the air.

Instantly, they were completely surrounded.

Sorceries rained down upon the group, and a cleric was blasted to the ground. He didn't rise.

"Get to cover! Follow me!" Havel sprinted to one side of the circle, intent on breaking it wide open. He shrugged off a blast and crushed a channeler's head down into his stomach with an overhead swing. Most clerics made it into the small hallway, but the last one lagged behind. He was caught when a channeler stabbed forward with their trident, piercing his leg. He cried out, but it was too late. Four more channelers came forward and stabbed him repeatedly, silencing him.

"Go, go!" Havel dragged Casper on as he started going back. "It's too late for him!"

They breached the antechamber to Seath's main chambers, weapons readied, only to find that dead channelers already littered the area. Chests were thrown open and shelves were already aflame. The six men didn't hang around to admire the fact. They smashed the latch on the huge double doors…

…and there he was.

Seath the Scaleless.

The bizarre figure was pure white, large silky wings protruding from his back. No eyes adorned his horned head, and three thick tails protruded from where his back half would be expected to be. Moonlight cascaded through tall windows to emphasize his color.

He exuded _POWER._

Even standing in the midst of Vaeldric's rabble, he didn't seem the slightest bit worried. As the clerics approached, the reason became obvious.

There were about thirty in all, dressed in various ragtag armor sets. All of them seemed to be frozen, trapped in a moment of intense agony.

They had been turned to stone.

After the initial shock, Havel raised his club and gave a mighty cry. He leapt off of the shoulders of a petrified man and delivered a powerful blow to the white dragon's face.

The hit made Seath's head turn, but he made no move to retaliate. Casper covered Havel's fall with his shield and braced for a counter-attack that never came, the battle clerics forming up around him.

There was a brief span where no one moved an inch.

Then the pale dragon began to make an odd noise. It was a deep, rumbling reverberation, punctuated by weird piercing tones that echoed around the chamber.

The Scaleless was laughing at them.

"Children. Thou know'st not the depth of thine folly." There was a chilling aspect to the voice that froze the limbs and had absolutely nothing to do with sorcery. It was as if a voice were calling from a mountain or a valley itself, it just should not be.

The albino head dipped lower to closer observe them with its eyeless gaze. "Wail to thine gods, O ye mortals, for I leave thee within that cursed embrace."

Casper brandished his sword, and drove it into the cold being's abdomen up to the hilt.

What may have been a horrible mimicry of a smile twisted the dragon's face. No cry of pain came from him. In fact, as he looked to Casper, the sword popped out of his scaleless hide, clattering on the tiles. His wounds had sealed themselves quickly, without a sign they were ever there.

"Pathetic man of faith, I have existed before dark and light, bore witness to the birth of death and existed in a realm without life. I predate thine 'gods'."

Casper retrieved his sword hastily. "Havel?"

Havel appeared stricken, eyes wide. "I fear I have made a grave mistake."

The doors behind them were thrown open, and giant sentinels plowed inside, followed by silver knights and what was left of the channelers. "Halt! You are to be arrested for the committing of treasonous acts against the Great Lord's Duke! Lay down your weapons!"

Havel dropped his club and grabbed the front of Casper's cloak in the same motion. "Don't join me in my grave." He whispered.

With that, he gave a mighty spin and hoisted Casper off the ground, throwing him through the nearest window and out into the night.


	12. Chapter 12

The night had been going successfully for the silver knights that held their district border. They had managed to repel the human forces without excessive effort, and had sent them limping back to lick their wounds.

And then _she_ had appeared.

She was larger than the humans, even the largest Berenike, and strode towards them with deadly purpose. Shadows congealed around her, and the moon cast no light upon her armor.

It had been a matter of seconds before she had breached the wall and led a band of six Berenike knights inside. The knights were facing this bravely, leaping into the fray, but Velka's chosen fought like a tongue of lightning.

That was when she was forced to turn and slice a large projectile out of the air.

Before the two halves of the greatarrow had hit the ground, another was coming. She deftly sliced that one as well, and her armor pulled her away as an actual bolt of lightning pierced the air.

Dodging projectiles from two sources, Velka could manage. The problem for her and Serafina was that without them helping the Berenikes, there was no one to stop the silver knights from ringing the alarm bells.

Then again, if the Four knew what was afoot, what did it really matter?

"LET THEM HEAR YOUR FEEBLE CRIES, THEIR JUDGEMENT IS NIGH!" proclaimed Velka in a tone that rang off the stones in a manner not dissimilar from the sounding bells.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Is that really her?" Artorias lowered his binoculars and Sif whimpered. Pain and confusion revealed themselves in lines around his eyes.

The night was ringing with the sound of bells, but a scream pierced through the sound as Serafina—or Velka—or whatever was on the battlefield, sliced open the abdomen of a silver knight.

Artorias's eyes widened, then hardened into blue steel. "Everyone converge." He drew his hood up, seating his helm atop it. "I do not know that woman."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It was odd. No great number had answered the alarm bells. Only two figures sprinted to the wall. The larger raised their voice and issued an order "Fall back to defensive positions!"

Serafina's hands shook, but Velka's were strong.

This seemed like a bad situation.

The armor emitted a high-pitched toll in a repeating pattern, and the extra garrison of troops began their assault through the hole she had punched. Regardless of the obvious threat, the larger figure still waved what were obviously his troops backwards.

Unfortunate, as part of the goal tonight had been to thin the numbers of the silver knights. She set her jaw and readied her rapier. The Berenikes formed up around her, having only lost one man of six.

Ciaran seemed to appear amidst them, prompting one to swing his massive mace at her. She was gone as quickly as she had appeared and the mace simply connected with his comrade's chest, sending him stumbling backwards. She was there too, reaching around to slice his throat open and vanishing without a trace.

As those assembled tried to see where she had gone, Ornstein dashed into the mix. He flicked aside a mace with his spear contemptuously and brought his speed and weight to bear by striking the knight in the face with the heel of his palm.

Velka wasn't about to let the pattern continue however, and brought her blade down in a shining arc. Ornstein intercepted it with the shaft of his spear, grasping it in two hands. He pushed the dark steel away and went for a swift jab to the stomach, only managing to scratch the armor as it twisted away. He backed away from a counterattack, impaling the downed knight as he did so to end his struggling.

Velka was very aware that her six had been halved. She kept her blade firmly aimed at the Captain, aim unwavering as he circled her and her men. They began to creep forward, shields raised, to flank him. The one in the center had clearly forgotten about Gough, whom had been patiently biding his time for such an opportunity. His stomach quickly housed three massive metal spikes. He fell to the ground, writhing sluggishly for a moment before becoming still.

One…two…three…

That meant—

Artorias leapt the storey and a half up to the wall, slamming into one of the remaining knights with his shield. The armor made for a swift strike in retaliation, but Velka had been surprised and distracted. Artorias planted a foot solidly in the middle of her chest before the strike fell, throwing her to the ground. He spun, decapitating the original knight. Sif leapt up from the opposite side, decapitating the other from behind.

Ciaran materialized nearby, and Velka was quite aware she was surrounded. She began to rise, but Artorias pressed her back down with his boot, hard. His greatsword pressed against her neck, his words were issued from behind clenched teeth.

"Give up."

The armor seemed to twitch, then fall limp. Gough arrived nearby, bow drawn and aimed directly at the dark figure.

There was sobbing coming from the motionless armor, echoing inside the helmet.

Artorias had frozen, but recovered, tipping the helmet off with the end of his blade.

He had a momentary pang of heartbreak to see Serafina like this. Her eyes were welled up with tears, raven hair spread out on the floor.

"Y-you ha-have to help me."

Artorias was disturbed. "What?"

Her face contorted with fear and tears rolled down her face. "I'm trapped in here! Velka won't let me go!"

Artorias flinched as if struck, taking his boot off of her. "You're trapped?"

"I couldn't stop her! She's too strong!" more tears joined the first, and she broke down.

He got down and set aside his sword and shield, fingers searching for the straps of the armor.

He wasn't prepared for the knife.

But Ciaran was.

She had shakily blocked it, her brilliant gold tracer casting shadows across her porcelain mask.

Gough calmly stepped forward with a sad sigh and knelt down to where the Lord's Blade struggled against the dark dagger. He looked at Serafina, whose face was twisted with rage. "You know, you had me convinced. You really did." He took the knife from her in his enormous hands and tossed it over the wall.

Artorias just stared at her like she was a ghost. Then he set his jaw, raising his fist above her.

She bared her teeth. "You swore to me that you would never strike me in anger, Artorias!" An ugly laugh came from her throat. "Tonight you become your father!" She stared madly up into his eyes. "Tonight, you doom the—"

He didn't listen any more.

He brought his fist hammering down into her temple, knocking her out cold.

"You swore to be honest with me."

He stood over her, staring at his hands.

He flinched out of his trance when Ciaran laid a hand on his side. She really hadn't recovered yet, and had pushed herself too hard tonight.

She didn't say anything to him. There was nothing to say.

His hands slowly clenched into fists, squeezing until the knuckles cracked.

Ornstein stood upon the wall a short ways away, staring out at the captured district. "Tonight we pull this _weed_ out by its _bloody_ roots."

Gough frowned. "Captain. Perhaps we should wait until dawn…?"

"I'm afraid I have not the time nor patience to do so, greatarcher." He stepped down, walking toward them. "But we have an important prisoner to deal with, so I will need you—"

His order was cut off as a fine arrow zipped between them and penetrated Serafina's neck.

It was a light arrow, and it had been a long shot, but the danger was apparently more than physical. Her eyes shot open again, incredibly bloodshot, and she took a deep rasping breath. When she exhaled, she coughed red globs onto the floor, body spasming.

They looked on in stunned silence for the most part, Gough drawing an arrow back and pulverizing the assassin.

Artorias simply retrieved his sword and shield and vaulted over the wall, dropping into the no-man's-land below. He shouted over his shoulder. "Sif! Bring Ciaran back to the Citadel! I don't go to take prisoners." His stride was steady and purposeful.

The Captain looked at the other two. "He's right." Ciaran began to protest, but he spoke over her. "You're in no shape for an assault." As if to punctuate his statement, Artorias roared in the distance, and a crumbling sound followed it. He turned back to Gough. "You stay here and help take care of this godsforsaken horde." He strode to the edge and vaulted after Artorias.


	13. Chapter 13

Whether it was the fact that Velka seemed to abandon the fight or not, Artorias wasn't really feeling that dark aura anymore.

He wasn't feeling much of anything but the painful spike of rage.

It burned in his throat, unable to be quenched despite his being doused in the blood of these rebels.

He made a spectacular leap into a tower, obliterating a pillar and killing a handful of mercenaries with the ensuing collapse. Sif was leaping around in his wake and dispatching whoever poked their heads out, unable to actually keep up with him at this point.

Velka's chosen quickly decided that retreat was the best option. They fled for the secondary wall, but they were being outpaced by Artorias's long strides and leaps. The screams of his victims drove the remainder faster than they had moved thus far. The gate dropped as the majority made their way to the controls. It clanged shut and locked against the paving stones, leaving eight of their own on the outside.

They didn't last long.

Artorias kept his momentum, and steadied himself to jump up onto the wall.

Pain lanced through his red haze.

He dropped back down to the stones, finding a spear penetrating between the plates of armor on his abdomen. The point just barely showed out his back.

He hadn't said a word throughout this battle, didn't have the clarity to do so.

The steadily growing pain wasn't helping matters.

He growled and gripped the shaft to haul it out, but was stopped by a golden gauntlet on his arm.

Ornstein pried his hand off and shook his Leo helm, breaking the external shaft off with a swift motion of his spear. "This will hurt, Artorias, but at least you won't bleed out." He tossed the shaft over his shoulder. "They'll be regrouping in there. We permit none to live." He planted his spear into the seam of the gate, driving his heel into it to wedge it in. He pulled down hard on his lever, and the gate groaned. Artorias added his strength the task, and the latch snapped loudly.

Panic swept over those inside.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Giroldus sliced into the rebels, careful not to throw himself too far into the crowd as to get mobbed. Strength and skill were wonderful and all, but numbers could kill you pretty easily in most cases. He would have been more comfortable if the silver knight commander had brought more men than just Giroldus with him, but perhaps he was overthinking things. After all, the Hawkeye was hammering the opposition from above, placing thunderous shots where their lines began forming up.

The commander was impressive in his own right. Giroldus was familiar with those in power that would be perfectly content if they never had to be anywhere near the battlefield.

Commander Korde was not one of those men.

His armor gleamed reflectively, hand-polished every day to perfection. A shield was strapped to his back, very similar to the other silver knights' with stylization being the main difference. He usually wore a long white cape with his armor, but had wisely discarded it for the battle. Not many could pull off the whole cape look in Giroldus's opinion, but Korde made it work for him as much as his soldiers did.

The man's skin tone was a shade or two darker than the majority of Anor Londo's residents, and the bridge of his nose featured a distinctive scar running across it. His mouth, visible through the open face of his helm, was set in a determined line as he spun his glaive. He was managing the situation effectively, each motion of the weapon killing a combatant or deflecting a blow.

"You're just showing off now." Giroldus grumbled, bisecting a man and punching another in the face as they tried to get inside his reach.

The numbers of the fighters were thinning out, and the small remainder retreated hastily.

"Yes! Flee for your miserable lives!" Giroldus crowed, throwing a stone after the retreating group. "Tell your friends!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Artorias lashed out with a hard kick, demolishing another support column with his heel. The tower toppled, and the rebels that had stubbornly holed up in it came tumbling out toward him and the ground. He finished them all with a single stroke of his greatsword, and sidestepped to avoid the tower.

Ornstein frowned. He knew that damage to the city was unavoidable at this point, as the rebels had dug in deep, but Artorias was trying even less than usual to preserve it. He was roving the captured district like a maniac, slaying all before him with the help of his wolf.

Ornstein made analytical strikes, hitting the areas that would prove more strategically useful first, and driving straight to the central tower. He tried to keep an eye on Artorias as he did so, but it wasn't easy.

Eventually, he raised his spear and fired off a bolt of lightning over Artorias's head. "Artorias!" he gestured to the tower with his spear. "Over there!"

The knight took the order in stride, sprinting in his direction. There was a trail of blood droplets that he left in his wake. A Berenike stepped out of a side alley to strike him with a mace, but he lashed out with his shield and drove the edge into the man's neck, breaking it on impact. He didn't slow down.

Ornstein had dashed over to the base of the tower, and noted that it was locked up tight. He was familiar with the design. "Artorias, a boost!"

He leapt up, and Artorias caught him on his shield as he came down. Then, with the force of his powerful arms, he threw the Captain into the air, assisted by him jumping as well.

Ornstein made it to the window with height to spare, driving his spear into the wall above it and swinging himself through the pane. After a few seconds and some noise from inside, he stepped out the gate at the bottom, glowering. "What a mess. They've damaged the mechanisms."

Artorias didn't respond. He had waited restlessly at the base of the tower, and now he tore off to find more rebels. Ornstein watched him go, concern tightening his brow. He had spent a good deal of time with the new Knight, even come to see him as a friend. This current rage coursing through his veins was not healthy for him.

There were healers in Anor Londo that could bring most back from the edge of the black precipice of death, but none of those miracles really touched upon the inner anguish Artorias would be subject to soon.

Ornstein picked a bowman out of a tower with a bolt of lightning. Himself, he had been born in bloody conflict. Knew nothing else for quite a while, really. When he had been chosen for his position there had been more conflict, but of a different sort. The sort he had not been equipped to deal with. Politics and interpersonal relations off the battlefield. Even then, even now, he still identified himself as a warrior. The warzone was just a little prettier.

But Artorias…

The Knight and his wolf decimated a squad of Berenike in passing.

Artorias didn't seem a warrior born, despite his obvious prowess. He was sympathetic to all off the battlefield, and sometimes on it. He would often spare his enemies death, and take great care around buildings. Even human buildings demanded his respect. He had a genuine nature about him.

Ornstein didn't hesitate to name him a hero.

Only in his thoughts, of course. It wouldn't do to make the man full of himself.

There were these fits though…

Artorias tore into a wall nearby, almost taking a score of pikes in his shoulders for it. Ornstein threw himself into the fray, pushing off a wall and sweeping his spear through their ranks.

He had seen the man like this on only one occasion before, when he believed Serafina captured by Velka's chosen. That made the obvious cause of each Serafina.

One could hope this would fade.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The city of Izalith was an interesting affair, a multi-tiered mass of high balconies, wide marketplaces, and secretive alleys. All miles below the ground.

Some might be appalled at the sheer amount of rock above their heads, but not many of those stuck around here for very long.

As much as Anor Londo was a massive site of business, Izalith was a city of trade. Exotic materials parted from the depths were exported hand in hand with gossip. Law wasn't as firm down here, and the overall mood was correspondingly loose.

That had been before Velka's push.

The lack of a tight screening policy at Izalith's gates meant that the rebels had gotten inside easier. However, they hadn't counted on being so easily identified.

The people here were largely part-humans, the rest of the population being filled out by various giants and deep-dwellers. The air virtually rang with numerous tongues all day, especially in the marketplaces.

There was another tongue that wagged only for the select.

There were a thousand names for it, even within this one land, but Queyla's favorite was "Kelto's Cough". She enjoyed the way it sounded.

The Cough was known to the Witches and their chosen alone. It was a complex system of sign language and social prompts that went unnoticed by the untrained eye. The requirements to communicate changed every day, and could change even swifter depending upon the circumstances.

A choked sob interrupted her train of thought, bringing her back to the present.

Qayleb flinched as his servants cleaned him as best they could. He had been born the latest of the Witch's brood, and the birth had not been perfect.

He had the same gift as they all did, his just had teeth.

Sores covered his gaunt body, and he hugged his legs to his chest. They had been nothing more than slight discolorations at birth, but had grown steadily worse despite his family's best efforts. The sores themselves only made for a physical deformity. If that were the only problem…

He cried out again as a fresh glob of molten lava seeped from a sore, searing his flesh. She focused intently on it, working her magic to draw as much heat as possible away. It was a strange thing indeed. She could easily permit a normal human to wade through magma naked under her protection, but the cursed lava that Qayleb's body produced was slippery to her gift, hard to contain.

She laid a hand on his cheek, feeling the patchy stubble growing there. Her heart ached for him, but a small part of her had begun whispering that there was no way to cure him.

She silenced it and stroked her brother's face.

He met her eyes as if in response to her inner dialogue and gave her a pained smile.

The sum of what Qayleb could do would likely remain a mystery, as he was mute since birth. No comprehensible word had ever escaped his mouth. He gave her a complicated set of hand signals instead, using the Cough.

He was smart, if hard to reach.

This was a bad day for him, made worse by the stress of the rebel's threat.

As soon as they had made it into the city, he had sensed them. No more than ten minutes after the rebels had begun their immersion, the Daughters had identified several of the members themselves.

Part of the fun of this city was that you likely wouldn't know it if you ran into a Daughter on the street, unless they wanted you to know. The various human-giant half breeds in this city made their heights unremarkable, and their skills in the art of disguise took care of the rest.

They had sensed the menace of the equipment the rebels had carried, and not given any sign away. Only the Cough had relayed the situation to the Witch.

She had opted to wait patiently and see who would answer the rebel's recruiters, then deal with them as a whole. She had even sent Quelaria to infiltrate the group, posing as one of the rebels. She did not envy her sister for her extended proximity to that equipment.

Qayleb gave her a cue. _Quelaag approaches, your sentence is finally completed._

She signed back, smiling sincerely. _It isn't an inconvenience to be with you, brother. Get well._

She was almost out the door when Quelaag stalked in. Her sister's features were sharper than her own, and no less beautiful.

"This rebellion is a pain, sister mine." She lifted a glass of wine from a nearby pedestal and took a sip. "I wish mother would let us incinerate the lot of them."

Queyla arched her brow. "Her reluctance might have something to do with our sister being in their midst."

Quelaag took another appreciative sip of the wine. "Mm. The fire would not harm her."

"But the debris, or Velka's champion, or the rest of their cursed weapons might." She counted off on her fingers. "Trust mother." She cut off her sister as she scowled. "I know, I'd rather be doing other things too."

It was Quelaag's turn to arch her brow. "I'll bet all of my gold that the _honorable_ Captain Ornstein of Anor Londo just appeared in your head."

"You…wouldn't have lost your gold."

Quelaag smirked into her glass. "You could have anyone, you know. Gods know _I_ still do. Let me tell you about last night, for instance, you won't _believe_ who joined in…"


	14. Chapter 14

After two days, the rebels had been driven out of Anor Londo, unable to cope after the spine of their movement had been broken. Only odd pockets of resistance remained in the surrounding burgs.

With the threat nullified, communications were open again. Reports came in from Izalith, very normal-looking reports that were filled with code. Ciaran readily deciphered it.

It seemed that Izalith was undergoing a quiet invasion still, but the Witch was well aware of it, and expected everything to be wrapped up within the week. There were also several letters from various Daughters of Chaos that she was obligated to look through. She did her best to just skim, as these were very… _intimate_ letters, but every once and a while she felt heat radiate through her face as she caught a little more information than was warranted.

And there was a common outlet for those sensations.

"Gods, Ciaran. Don't be a fool." She muttered to herself.

It had hurt to see Artorias suffer by Serafina, tearing around in a maelstrom of violence that was at odds with his usual nature. He'd be paying for that now, kicking himself.

She looked out of her window, and sure enough he was there; barely six inches tall from her perspective. He sat on a balcony open to the air, head bowed and hands clasped together. Sif lay next to him, head resting on his foot. They both ignored the driving summer rain that had begun a minute before.

She sighed and returned to her work, only to be interrupted by heavy footfalls outside her door. She could place their owner immediately, but waited until he knocked on her door.

"Come in, Gough."

The giant entered, ducking slightly to get through the doorway. "You're still in here on such a glorious day?"

She smirked, still poring over the papers "Glorious, hm?"

"It's a warm rain."

"Your kind doesn't get cold, Gough."

He accepted the comment with a chuckle and sat down in an enormous chair that was here specifically for him. After a few seconds of looking out the window, he began to chuckle anew.

"Gough, I'm working."

The giant raised his eyebrows comically. "Oh are thee? Those papers smell of heat and earth, surely from Izalith?"

He was surprisingly perceptive sometimes, and it threw even Ciaran off guard at points. "Good nose."

He shrugged. "It's simply large. What have they to say?"

She moved several letters to one side. "They were invaded too, but they're handling it. No calls for help."

The giant nodded. "Hmm. If only it had been so well handled on our end."

"Well, they did get a free pass past the walls. I doubt they would have been even half as successful if they had to deal with those."

"True." He rumbled. "I imagine there were no letters from the Catacombs?"

It was really a rhetorical question. There had never been any letters from the Catacombs. The only time they had received anything close was when there had been that onset of burrowing drakes in the area.

They had gotten the drakes' hearts sent to them. Dried, and knotted together on a long braid of hemp rope. She had originally wondered why Nito wouldn't just send the skulls, but quickly remembered his clutches on the dead.

"I don't even know if Nito can read. Or write, for that matter."

"Nito likely remains secure."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The rain wasn't as bad as the sensation of self-incrimination that he felt.

He imagined he could still see their eyes, full of fear, as he severed the threads of their lives. They had been scared, confused, and angry, feeling wronged by Gwyn. Some had likely been pressured into service. None had stood against him.

Whenever he tried to stop thinking about them, Serafina would spring into his mind's eye.

He usually thought of the rebels.

But he had a hard time trying to compare how they had ended and how they had started. They had had similar beginnings, being raised in a predominantly poor human area. Her parents had simply been old, dying over a harsh winter within a few days of each other. But by that time she had been a grown woman, ready to face the world. She had still harbored a simmering spark of anger for what she perceived as Gwyn's lack of support, half blaming him for her parent's deaths.

Artorias didn't know his mother, and didn't want to know his father, but didn't have much of a choice. He had been an alcoholic for as long as he could remember, and Artorias had fallen victim to his abusive rage on many an occasion.

Needless to say, he tried his best to stay out of the house for as long as he could. Wherever he saw suffering, he was reminded of his father, and he rose to help. Thus began his ascent.

Years later, he was known throughout the provinces and burgs for his indomitable will and kindness, but Serafina had been with him before his fame began.

Had his status changed him in some fundamental way? He couldn't erase Serafina's last look of hatred before her life so abruptly ended from his mind.

Part of him was still unsure if he had done the right thing.

Sif _whuff_ ed in the rain, settling his head into a more comfortable position on his shoe.

"You're right, Sif. She wasn't all bad." He thought of the good times they had had, but now they were tainted by the blood she had spilled. "But there was apparently some ugliness I missed."

He raised his head and felt the rain spatter against his face. "It's time we moved on."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It had been a few weeks since the last of Velka's minions had been caught or driven out. Without any apparent support from their patron, the troops had fallen apart relatively easily under the sword of Anor Londo.

Ornstein rubbed the bridge of his nose. There was still a great deal of paperwork to do, repairs to be made, and people to relocate. Stacks and stacks lay before him in pristine, evenly distributed piles.

"I don't envy you _this_ Ornstein, that's for sure."

Gough was in the doorway, smoking a pipe. "You've not slowed down since the start of this mess, you know." He came over and looked at the impressive stacks. "My kind may be able to pull that sort of thing off, but yours…"

"It needs to be done."

"Pah! Something always needs to be done!" Melda shuffled into the room through the other doorway, holding a small hammer and some nails. "The child works himself to death!"

The captain sighed. "Please, Melda. I'm hardly a child."

There was a brief period of silence where everyone realized that Ornstein was the youngest present by a large span of years. Gough and Melda glanced sideways at each other.

Gough grinned. "Oh, the youth, eh?"

Melda pointed the hammer at the giant. "Don't you start coming over here! I've already got enough trouble from you playing matchmaker with my staff!"

The Hawkeye raised his hands, palms out. "Peace, woman! They chose their paths!"

She planted her hands on her hips. "Don't deny it! I _know_ who's the mastermind behind all of this!"

This was not helping Ornstein finish his work.

A headache that had started a long time ago reached its peak.

" _Friends_ , friends, you were saying something…relevant?"

"Oh, ahh…yes." Gough straightened his shirt and cleared his throat. "I was going to suggest that we four do something tonight, to soothe our spirits. We should—"

"—draw up stratagems to prevent a similar event in the future, good idea." Ornstein wrote himself a note. "If we—"

The giant laid a hand on his shoulder. "No."

"No?"

He nodded his enormous head. "No."

Melda stepped forward, still brandishing her hammer. "The lummox was suggesting a party, child!" She began moving a hand toward a stack.

"Melda, I hold the utmost respect for you, but if you throw those papers onto the floor, I will likely do something drastic." Ornstein's lack of sleep was apparent in his tone.

"Since I seem to be cornered and outnumbered, I will yield to your demands. Let the nobles know that—"

"Oh gods no, Ornstein. Just the four of us Knights."

"I'll see what I can do."


	15. Chapter 15

"This is more than us four, Ornstein."

"Trust in me, Gough. This will be better."

There were a few dozen people invited to this particular party, still considerably less than would be privy to an official Anor Londo ball.

The event was being held in one of the lesser halls, still plenty spacious and decorative. One end opened into a massive balcony that provided a breathtaking view of the city in the warm night air. A small group played a lively tune in the wings, a bit racier than one might hear at a ball. The general atmosphere was light, and conversation was running steadily, punctuated by laughter and the clinking of glasses and silverware. A space had been cleared for a makeshift dancefloor, and some had taken to it in pursuit of the rhythm of the music.

Ornstein had carefully chosen his outfit; not too fancy, but certainly not casual. He wore a rich orange tunic with red lining to match the shade of his hair. Shiny black boots with golden buckles adorned his feet, with matching black gloves.

Gough was personifying the opposite end of the spectrum. He wore his usual casual wear, the exception being an acceptable vest. He noticed Ornstein's vaguely disapproving look. "I was going to wear my bow tie, but I seem to have misplaced it."

"Very well." He clasped his hands behind his back and scanned the crowd. "Almost everyone is here, just waiting on a few more."

"Sir Artorias?" the giant inquired.

The captain indicated a table in the corner. It had been filled to maximum capacity, and more chairs had been dragged over. The Knight was there at one of the heads, playing some sort of card game with those seated. The rest were watching. Artorias was actually wearing a fine blue tunic with silver trimming, but had unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled up the sleeves for freedom of movement.

"Ah. I may need to get myself into that game."

"Don't forget to socialize, Gough. We're important figures."

"If they wish to speak to me, they will find me. I shan't be hard to find." The giant grinned as he made his lumbering way to the table.

Ornstein mentally checked off his list. He had invited Queyla, but wasn't hopeful of her availability. As important as he was, she was a hundred times more so, similar to Gwyn's children. He had invited Commander Korde with similar expectations. He was expecting Ciaran to do her usual check-in for these events. He frowned. Smough was parked by the refreshments, despite not having been invited.

He calmed himself. This could easily be handled, as long as no one provoked him or got provoked by him. Perhaps he could post a—

"Ornstein."

He was snapped out of his reverie by Ciaran's voice. He kept his eyes on Smough as he said something to a familiar-looking human.

"Ciaran." He acknowledged her. "When you do your patrol tonight, I need you to keep a watchful eye on the Executioner. He arrived a few minutes ago, and has since—"

"Ornstein."

He glanced at her, and did a double-take.

She stood before him, and not in her armor. She wore a navy blue kirtle with golden trim, paired with a black chemise. Nothing was very loose, and he spied fine leather boots at the end of her skirt.

Overall, he was very surprised, but kept his composure, aside from raising his eyebrows. "So you've decided to join us?"

She gave him a look. "Don't push it. I'm still armed."

Laughter erupted from the far table, and money exchanged hands as cards were played. Artorias was pointing at a man across the table and grinning, sliding a small stack of coin to his place.

Ornstein smiled slightly. "I suppose that will be your destination?"

Ciaran glanced at him quickly, and he saw the hesitation in her eyes.

"No one will think less of thee for this, Ciaran. Be off, I will see to Smough."

Old habits were hard to break, and so Ciaran seemed to disappear between the door and the table. At her arrival, Artorias stood up and went over to her. Their conversation was lost due to the ambient noise, but the Captain could infer. He had never seen her in anything less than partial armor. She was sure to turn some heads tonight, though he knew she wanted to turn a particular head.

He put his hand on her shoulder and gestured for her to join them, and he could have sworn he saw her smile.

A night of firsts, then.

Something caught his eye at the drink table. "You there! Who told you to bring that out? Do you have any idea how long that has been aging? I will not see this event devolve into chaos!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

After a few hours, things eased into a sort of genial chaos. A few more people had arrived, and Artorias wasn't sure if he knew them. There was a human that had started playing a guitar with the original group, a long spear propped up nearby, a few channelers standing to one side with drinks in hand speaking in low, foreign tongues, and a figure playing dice in a voluminous cloak.

There were plenty that he did know, as well. There was the Berenike Giroldus debating something passionately with the cloaked figure, and Commander Korde nursed a drink near the door.

He would have a hard time loosing track of Gough, large as he was. The giant had gotten an impressive amount of spirits in him, and now shook the floor nearby as he attempted to keep up with the music, rather unsuccessfully. His roaring laughter fed the atmosphere.

Sif had somehow found his way in, and was having the time of his life begging food from the party-goers around the tables.

Ornstein was looking a bit ruffled, but not in an unhappy manner, he was wearing an expression that he probably thought was a good poker face as he held his cards, but his evident smile left him looking a tad deranged.

All of that was in the background for him though. He was far more distracted by his company.

Ciaran had needed some reassurance in the beginning, but she seemed confident in her decision to show up tonight, dressed as she was. He hadn't seen her like this at all, and from what he could glean from everyone else, they hadn't either.

And she needed some more reassurance right now.

He waved at her again, gesturing toward the dance floor. She had turned him down the first time, choosing to just have another drink. He saw the hesitation in her yellow eyes though, the words that almost left her lips.

She was looking his way as he tapped out the rhythm of the tune with his heels and toes, that indecisive look writing itself on her face again. He grinned widely and gestured again, brushing his hair back to its original position.

She wavered for a moment more, then finished her drink in one pull and made her way to him.

"She appears!" Artorias gave a deep sweeping bow as she approached, raising his voice to be heard.

She laughed, waving his bow away. "Prepare to be disappointed, I don't really dance."

It was his turn to dismiss her. "Nonsense! Come, into battle!"

He held out his hand to her, and she took it. His hand enclosed hers, warm and calloused, yet surprisingly gentle. He gave her hand a little squeeze and led her through the crowd, eventually stopping near the middle. He released her, taking a step away and letting his feet find their timing again. "Here we are, our own little kingdom!" He spun with most of the crowd at the corresponding cue from the guitar. "Come on, I know you've got it in you! It's not terribly hard!"

She began vaguely imitating the dance steps she saw, Artorias coming alongside her to help her out.

"There you go, there you go! Then tap your heels aaand…turn!"

She followed as best she could. "I told you I don't dance!"

"What? You just don't know _this_ dance!"

The song had ended, the next one being born amidst it's final notes.

He gestured around as the crowd began to dance as they saw fit, this tune having no official choreography. He began a simple motion, laughing.

"It doesn't matter if you don't know the steps, Ciaran. What matters is your passion!"

The new piece began to pick up as the guitar was joined by a particularly well-played flute. Ciaran looked around. Everywhere she looked, there were smiling faces. Even Ornstein was smiling, performing a high ballroom dance and trying to teach it to those nearby with very limited success.

Artorias smiled that lopsided smile as his heels clacked on the tiles, and he punctuated it by throwing his arms wide and nearly bowling over a silver knight.

No one was judging her.

No one would think less of her.

And _gods this felt good._

She felt a grin light on her face, and allowed her body to find the beat.

They danced until light and drink had faded.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Ciaran awoke slowly, the sunlight stabbing at her eyes. There was a throbbing in between her ears, and her mouth was dry. She had probably hit it a bit too hard last night…

Last night.

She closed her eyes.

It seemed so surreal now, looking back, and certainly not in a bad way. Had she really been out on the dance floor? She hadn't danced since she was a child.

 _Well,_ a little inner voice said, _Artorias didn't seem to mind._

A small smile found its way to her lips, and she stretched. She would need to get some water, she felt extremely dehydrated. Especially lying in the sunbeam like this. The bedsheets were slowly becoming uncomfortable to her in her current state, and—

Wait.

Sunlight?

BED?

She shot up to a sitting position, and regretted it immediately. Her headache protested, and her eyes still hadn't adjusted. To reach a compromise, she cracked her eyes slightly and scanned her surroundings.

She was in her chambers, or rather her chambers for this month, as she moved them every so often. She was perched upright in her bed, still in her dress from last night. Realizing her tracers were still on her, she concluded that to be the source of her uncomfortable legs.

Her room looked mostly the way she had left it, save for an item or two that had been knocked off a shelf. She had been neatly tucked into bed. An unfamiliar sound met her ears, and she got up to investigate.

In the next room, she found Artorias.

He seemed to have attempted to crash on the pallet last night. Of course, it wasn't sized for him, so his arms and legs mostly hung outside it. His mouth was open, and the noise she heard was him breathing, sounding like the bellows of a forge. His shirt had been partially undone, perhaps to the point of immodesty.

She considered doing the shirt up for him, but he began to stir. Not wanting to seem as though she had been watching him, she retreated back to her bedroom. Now if she could just get a blasted drink…

There, on her bedside table.

A tall glass of water waited, out of the sun.

Things were good.


	16. Chapter 16

Ciaran and Artorias had been sent to New Londo on the Great Lord's orders to investigate the possibility of a cult forming there. After spending most of the day in the complex subterranean city, they had turned up virtually nothing but rumors.

The city was close to being completely human-populated, which honestly worried many people at Anor Londo. Especially given recent events, humans were often seen as violent and lesser beings. This was not a belief that Artorias shared. Nevertheless, he could feel eyes on him from almost every direction no matter where they were. He had wondered why Gwyn would send him when Ciaran could pass off for human relatively easily, and the only reason he could come up with was that their presence, _his_ presence, was meant to be broadcasted.

"That is a lie."

Ciaran shrugged. "It's the truth, believe it or not."

Artorias idly scratched Sif's head. "I don't believe it, not for a second. Not a single lover at all so far? Not even a short-lived affair?"

"My people do things a bit differently than the rest, Artorias. Don't rub it in." She punched his hip.

He clutched his hip and pretended to stumble. "Ah! A mortal wound!"

They both had a little chuckle at this, straightening up as a few humans in rich garb turned the corner. When they had passed, Artorias tapped her shoulder. "What did you mean about your people? What are they like?"

Her porcelain mask gazed up at him. Not for the first time, he wondered at her expression, only being able to see a slight reflection of her eyes. After a moment, she broke eye contact and looked over her shoulder. "Not out here on the street."

"Right. I tell you, this city gives me chills. Sometimes good chills, but mostly bad ones."

"Yes, well…" The Lord's Blade inspected her gauntlets carefully. "Perhaps I could tell you more about it over dinner?" He looked over at her, and she became a bit flustered, glad for the concealment of her mask. "I mean; we're going to have to stay here a day or two to dig deep enough anyway."

Artorias grinned from ear to ear. "That sounds grand!" He scratched behind Sif's ears. "But until then, what's our next move?"

Ciaran pointed to the impressive tower that merged with the far side of the cavern. "We need to check in with the Four Kings before we do anything." She tilted her head and crossed her arms. "We really should have done that before we started looking around, but we don't really get along, so I figured they could wait. I'm _sure_ they have important king things to do."

He could sense her smile in the tone of her voice. "Ciaran, you naughty thing you." He dropped his head lower to speak by her ear in a quieter tone. "They can't actually arrest you, can they?"

"It wouldn't happen for anything less than me assassinating one or more of them, no. That's one of the reasons that they don't like me. I think it has something to do with my size. I'm not as large as most of those in Anor Londo, so they figure they should be my superiors. It's irritating."

They had come to a pavilion, where people bustled back and forth, and a general buzz filled the air. The tone of it changed when they strode by.

"Well, and don't kill me for saying this—"

"No promises."

"—but you are quite short."

"You're a dead man, Artorias."

"Can you even reach my throat?"

"I mean it!" The seriousness of her words was dispelled by her giggle. She settled for punching him in the hip again.

"Ah, same spot!"

They dissolved into snickers again, just as the same group of humans in noble clothes rounded the corner. Artorias made his face as blank as he could manage, Ciaran having an easier time with her mask.

After they had passed, he whispered to her again. "Am I insane, or were those the same men as before?"

"While you are insane, those were the same humans. They would be a few of the privileged wealthy of New Londo. They have the ears of the Four Kings, and are likely here right now at their order."

"Ah. I suppose I stick out a fair bit in this city." He ducked to get through another arch. "Nothing is sized for me down here. I wonder if this is how Gough feels."

"A fair bit of Anor Londo is actually sized for him. They were considerate." She walked with ease beneath the same arch. "Your presence here will make things interesting."

"I get that a lot."

"How are you at intimidation?"

"I'm a pretty scary guy." He set his face, his dark eyebrows furrowing. He stood as tall as he could, raising his chin and crossing his muscular arms. Sif promptly sat on his feet. The image was surprisingly nonthreatening.

"Try to stop smiling for a second."

When his smile disappeared, things were greatly affected. He was almost always wearing a smile of some sort, but now she got the sensation of a storm building. Those few minutes before rain and lightning would fill the air.

"That'll do."

"It was bad, wasn't it? I felt ridiculous."

"It was perfect. I'll give you a cue to look especially upset later."

"What sort of cue?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

"If you say so."

"I do. Until then though, I need you to do some looming that I just can't pull off."

"They're going to think that I just ate a lemon or something with this face."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Well, what a…pleasant…surprise. What brings you two to our fair city this evening?" King Thaddeus rested on his throne, clothed in expensive robes and a tall jeweled crown. His paleness had a way of creeping into his tone, leaving him somewhat monotone in his speech. A precisely trimmed beard decorated his face.

"We are investigating rumors of a cult that may be forming in this city." Ciaran and the kings were eyeing each other like strange cats. "…your majesties."

King Darius sat forward in his throne, and the nearby guards shifted in response to the mood in the room. "I am quite certain that this whole 'cult' is fictional. A ruse to grant you room to stick your nose in others' business." A matching jeweled crown sat on his brow, emphasized against his dark skin.

King Phillip put a hand on his shoulder. "Peace, have we ever had reason to doubt the Lord's Blade? Certainly, no one can question her motivations and methods." Listening to Phillip, one could be convinced that he meant whatever he said. Ciaran knew better. He might often be smiling good-naturedly, but it never reached his eyes. "Why, even during the last excursion, _nobody_ could—" Artorias had been standing to the side, and shifted a half-step closer. The movement had distracted the king, as if he had just become aware of his presence. He looked up at the Knight, who towered over him. He started over, finding his train of thought again. " _Ahem_ , nobody could doubt her love for—" Another distraction came as Artorias crossed his arms and looked down at him. "Ah…her love for humanity?"

"Of course you can't. I just _love_ you humans to _bits_."

Darius waved his hand. "Enough of this. Do what you think you can justify to yourself or Gwyn, but do not flaunt our laws! There is nothing to find here, no conspiracies and no cults! Is that really so hard to believe?"

"Pardon my prying, your majesties, but where is the fourth of your number?" Ciaran tilted her head.

The resulting silence was filled with tension. Thaddeus flicked his eyes to Darius, who stared at Ciaran and clenched his jaw.

Phillip spoke up. "You are pardoned for your prying." He rose from his chair. "Worry not about us getting in your way today. In fact, the citadel will be closed off until tomorrow afternoon." He smiled rigidly. "You are dismissed."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Cierte stared at his hands. They weren't the hands of a farmer, smooth with thin fingers. He had been a sorcerer all his life, improving the lives of his fellow humans in Oolacile with the gentle sorceries that had originated there. Life was simple, yet fulfilling.

But he would be lying if he were to say he thought everything was fine.

Ever since that serpent had told him the horrible truth, that the Flame was fading, it was like every aspect of his life had been tainted. He was content with the Great Lord's rule, as were most of the humans in this city, and was frantic to keep things the way they were.

Perfect.

He clenched his hands. He couldn't let this news get out, lest panic ensue, but he could definitely do something about this. He was a sorcerer, for Gwyn's sake. The power at his disposal could change the course of history.

The serpent had presented him with a way to reverse things. It was filled with unknowns, but he wouldn't let his perfect world fall into darkness.

"Qerra? Call the council together. I have something I need to say."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I wanted to step on him, Ciaran."

"Mhm."

"There's definitely something going on in this city."

She held up a finger. "There's something going on in the _citadel_ itself."

Sif nudged her arm as they sat on a bench in a square featuring a fountain. Well, Ciaran sat on the bench. Artorias, being unable to fit, sat on the edge of the fountain. She indulged the wolf, petting him. He panted happily.

They stopped their discussion momentarily as a stream of people walked by, some of them carrying food. The smell wafted over them.

"It seems as though you've been here quite a few times, Ciaran, so I'll defer to your judgement; where can some Knights go to eat around here?"

"Are you sure we should?"

He stood up and stretched. "Someone once counseled me to take a break every once in a while to stay effective."

"Fair enough. I think I know a spot."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The place she had in mind turned out to be a cozy spot. The barkeep was kind enough to allow Sif to be situated in one of the rooms upstairs for the evening. There were actually people that didn't mind their presence, and the hum of conversation fueled merriment.

Of course, a little alcohol never hurt that sort of thing as well.

Ciaran had only been here on the job before, entailing some professional stalking of targets, this experience being radically different. In a good way.

Artorias was at the bar picking up their second rounds to wash down the meal. They had had a good laugh at how he needed to order several plates to equate a decent meal, and she couldn't help but feel little butterflies in her stomach at this whole excursion.

As if he felt her eyes on him, he looked over his shoulder at her and waggled his eyebrows.

His mood was contagious, by the gods.

He settled back down at their table, sliding her the pint sized for him. "That one's yours, right?"

"Ha, no way. I would be out like a light."

He waved his hand and switched the drinks. "Nonsense. You can handle your drink better than you think." He took a pull from his mug. "Not a bad brew."

She nodded after her own pull. "I always thought the stuff back home was best, but this is still up there for me."

Artorias slapped his forehead. "I almost forgot! I never heard about your home!" He placed his hand on her arm. "…that is, if you want to share?"

She tilted her head, her smile hidden by her mask. "No, it's alright. I said I would after all."

"Fantastic! Perhaps you could start with this?"

He put his drink down and reached out with both hands to grasp the edges of her mask, gently easing it up and off her head. "A fine piece of craftsmanship..." He winked at her. "And the mask is pretty good too."

The compliment caught her off guard, and she felt heat radiating from her face. "Alright, alright!" She gave his shoulder a shove and took the mask, setting it on the table and brushing her bangs back.

"You remember how I said my people were a bit different? Well, our duty is very important to us."

He held up a hand. "If I could interrupt for a second, where do they live? I know the Lord's Blades aren't allowed in Anor Londo anymore."

She idly ran her fingers over the face of her mask. "Well, my people aren't all Lord's Blades. Roughly _half_ of them, but…" She spun the mask around so it faced Artorias. "We come from an area east of Anor Londo, through the forest past Oolacile. The females become Lord's Blades and the males become Guardians."

"Wait, _all_ of you are either Lord's Blades or Guardians?"

She nodded. "Yes. Training starts very early on."

"So…no one's a baker or smith or anything else? What do you do if you want bread?"

She took a swig. "Well, training encompasses more than doing tricks with swords." She pulled a knife out of nowhere, throwing it into the air and catching it by the blade without sustaining a scratch. "There was a slew of other skills to be learned. After all, there was nothing else to do. Like I said, my people do work and not much else."

He nodded while drinking. "Well…I hope I'm not ruining your culture or something with all this." He said, gesturing to their surroundings.

She shrugged. "Maybe you are." She downed the rest of her drink and smiled at him. "But I don't answer to anyone but Gwyn anymore. This is great." She reached over and squeezed his arm.

He downed his own drink. "Well, whenever you want me to ruin your culture again, you know where to find me."

"No one escapes the Lord's Blades, Artorias."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The night had worn on, and most of the customers in the building had either left or retired to one of the rented rooms upstairs for the night.

Artorias leaned over to Ciaran at the bar. "We're not planning on sleeping in the streets, right?"

"I don't know; I saw a rather comfy stretch of cobblestone under a bridge…"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Suit yourself. I'm getting a room!" He signaled the barkeep over. "How much for a room, sir?"

The man who had been so vibrant and welcoming earlier was drawn and somber now. "Ah…we actually have no rooms available tonight."

Artorias furrowed his brow in confusion. "But my wolf is up there right at this moment, no?"

The blood drained from the man's face. "Well, there…there was…"

"I'm afraid I rented the room in advance, honorable knights." One of the men they had seen earlier in the streets spoke up as he approached the bar. "It seems to be a busy night tonight. I should wonder if all of the inns are full…" He finished his drink and pushed it to the barkeep. "I will require you to remove your beast from my chambers. Now."

Artorias stared at the man for a few moments, then whistled shrilly. There was some bumping heard upstairs, and Sif came bounding down the stairs with his sword.

"I suppose we'll be going then. There's sure to be someplace to bed down."

The barkeep's eyes were downcast while he cleaned the man's mug.

When they had left the building, Ciaran shouldered the Knight good-naturedly. "Hey, don't worry about it. We're on a break, remember?" She scribbled out a quick message on a sheet of paper. "Here, you could have Sif run this report to Anor Londo if it would make you feel better."

"It would. Come here, Sif." He knelt down and fastened the note around his neck with a leather strap. "There, now run that out to Anor Londo, ok boy?"

Sif _whuff_ ed in affirmation, and took off down the street.

He watched his wolf go. "Alright, let's find a decent hole to crash in around here."

"There was always that spot under the bridge."

"I'm not that desperate yet."

"Well, if worst comes to worst, remember that it doesn't rain down here."

"But gods, does it get damp."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Well, it's amazing what money can do for you. Or against you, rather."

They had made a thorough route of the various inns around New Londo proper, but had quickly found that all of the rooms were occupied. All except one. They had managed to beat the agents of the Four Kings to a spot, and Artorias had had to literally put his foot in the door.

Instead of being disheartened at this, it had started to become a sort of game to the two. A combination of exhaustion, alcohol, and pleasurable company put their mad dash through a sort of comedic filter.

Ciaran entered the room first. "They're so desperate, they've probably rigged traps in the room, hold on." She made a show of looking under the cushions on the chairs. Artorias stopped her from entering the attached bathroom.

"Wait! They may have set a bucket of water on top of the door!"

She laughed and pushed him backwards. "Look out for tripwires between the dressers!"

They were fervently whispering, trying not to wake up the neighboring residents, but dissolved into wheezing laughter.

Artorias spoke between fits. "There…there has to be p-pressure plates…in the bed! It can't be right that it would actually fit me! Very suspicious." He yawned and half sat, half collapsed on the edge of it, realizing his fatigue. "Gods, I may have overdone the drink tonight."

Ciaran perched on the edge as well. "All part of my master plan."

"Oh yeah?"

She rose to her feet. "Mhm. Now that you're weak, it's time to strike!" She made to move forward, but her legs wobbled and she fell onto the mattress herself. "Oof. Alright, maybe later."

Artorias let himself fall onto his side next to her. "Aha! There won't _be_ a later! You're done for!" He wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug, eliciting a small delighted noise from her. A short romping period followed, stopped only by the downstairs neighbor banging on his ceiling and telling them to be quiet. They ceased, smiles written on breathless faces.

There weren't words.

Much more passed between their eyes.

He lowered himself down, and they shared a lingering kiss.

When that broke off, he planted another one on her neck, then stopped and looked her in the eyes.

"Wait."

She made a questioning sound in her throat, hand against the side of his head.

"I…I want this Ciaran, and I think you want it too. But you're drunk, and I'm drunk." Concern shone through his eyes. "I wouldn't be able to…do anything with a clear conscience…"

He lay down on his side, and drew her close to him. "…but I look forward to seeing you in the morning."

It wasn't long before they drifted off, secure in each other's arms.


	17. Chapter 17

At last, every paper had been filed, all accounts closed.

The captain held his head in his hands. This work wasn't exactly enjoyable, but the satisfaction came from knowing that he had pitted himself against it and come out the victor. A battle of wills with the statistics of Anor Londo.

He stood up, pushing his chair back into place.

He had been looking forward to this part of the day.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Izalith was much hotter than Anor Londo. Regardless, Ornstein had opted to arrive in full armor. He had a reputation to keep, after all. The lights from lamps and small perpetual lava flows gleamed off of his golden armor as strode through the crowded marketplace. He kept his eyes forward, and strode straight for the palace.

As different as the actual architecture differed from Anor Londo down here, the people differed more. The humans of Izalith had mixed with the other beings here, socially and literally, creating a mechanic that didn't exist above.

Of course, that mixture had caused this problem in the first place.

Queyla had sent him a coded letter, passed on to him by Ciaran, asking for his help. The Witch had tried to be as subtle as possible about dealing with the rebels hiding within her city, but the problem became amplified when they began converting residents to their cause. Or rather, potentially recruiting them. The profound lack of certainties in this kingdom made Ornstein uneasy.

It seemed that a precise and analytical strike was required to remove the threat. Something that no one here was particularly good at.

Something that the Captain was excellent at.

With the rebellion quelled in Anor Londo, he felt as though he could afford a short excursion or two.

Looking at the condition of things down here, he could feel the gears in his head churning, mentally solving the infractions he saw. He clenched his hand around his spear. _This isn't your kingdom, you're a guest here._

Still though, he was reasonably certain that he had witnessed three accounts of pickpocketing during his walk so far. But the culture was so different, they may have even been acceptable gags.

Speaking of which, a figure had been tailing him for a short while. He couldn't pin down their race without turning and engaging them, except to say that they weren't a full giant or human.

He decided to find out.

There was some sort of street performance going on in a square involving a figure orbited by multi-hued orbs of fire that had drawn a bit of a crowd. He stopped and pretended to be interested, relaxing his hands.

His vision was somewhat restricted by his helmet, but he could just barely make out that the figure had carefully closed the distance, appearing interested in the display as well. They slowly slipped nearer, and he lost track of them in his peripherals. He put himself on high alert, expecting to feel the faint jostling of his possessions.

When he felt the faintest of brushes, his hand shot out and grasped his pursuers' wrist. He spun to face them, readying himself to berate them…

"Ah, hello, Captain! I'm ever so glad that you received my sister's invitation."

Ornstein blinked in surprise as Quelaag straightened up, smiling at him through her hood. She lifted a vibrant purple flower with her other hand. "Was this for dear Queyla?"

Ornstein had procured the flower from a stand in Anor Londo on a whim, an odd thing for him. It had been carefully tucked inside a pouch, and he had kept it from being jostled.

He composed his face and held out his hand. "I'm afraid that would be a private matter, miss."

She made no move to give it back to him, breathing in its scent instead. As exotic as the myriad smells of the street were, the flower cut through it with a light, pleasant aroma. "Oooh, she'll _love_ this." She looked at Ornstein slyly. "Remember that you're here for _business_ , Captain." A frown briefly crossed her face. "…A sentence I hadn't thought I'd use seriously."

She passed him the flower, and he carefully placed it back in it's spot.

When he was satisfied, he straightened back up. "What does the Witch think about this…situation?"

Quelaag shifted her weight from foot to foot and made a complex movement with her hands. In apparent response, another figure in the crowd signaled back in a similar matter.

"Let us go elsewhere to discuss this. You stand out immensely down here."

They traveled toward the palace, Ornstein following the odd zigzag pattern that the Daughter led him in. There was no real format to this city, as far as he could tell. That fact made him itch to correct it.

At last, they ascended the many stairs to the palace gates. Only when they were inside did Quelaag speak. "Mother has been rather…distracted of late. We haven't heard from her in a long while."

Ornstein stopped, disbelief shaping his words. "You haven't checked on the ruler of Izalith for _days_?"

"Closer to a week and a half, really."

He shook his head incredulously. "No wonder you need my help. I already have a plan for organization. The first step: I'll need your military information. We need to pull them back and structure our defense, leaving only a—"

"Captain."

He sighed. "I _thought_ it was too good to be true."

"I'm sure you're busy enough back home without taking on the burdens of another kingdom." It was her turn to look at him oddly. "Don't you rest?"

He straightened his back and lifted his chin. "Not when the safety of those important to me is at risk."

"Gods, you're serious."

"Often, ma'am."

"Have it your way, I guess." She waved her hand dismissively. "In _any_ case, we were going to check on Mother today anyway. Queyla and Quelea are in her chambers talking with her right now, actually. I'm sure everything is fine."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Mother, you've not slept in days! This work is noble, I'm sure, but perhaps it is dangerous as well?"

Queyla watched pensively as her sister made her point. The situation with the rebels had been allowed to fester for too long while the Witch was…distracted by her deed. As the First Flame began to naturally sputter and fade, so would the Age of Fire, the Age of Gods. That was simply unthinkable, but Queyla had begun to notice that problems kept popping up out of seemingly nowhere. They were beginning to appear faster than they could be solved, and she feared disaster.

Sharing her fear, the Witch had pondered long on a solution. She had even asked for help from Seath the Scaleless, which resulted in little more than vague assistance. In the end, she had decided to try and produce another Flame. All souls had their beginnings in flame, and as such the Witch had an interesting opportunity.

But she had been isolated and unresponsive for about a week and a half now. It wasn't exactly common for the family to intensely keep track of one another and report in, but this was a bit too long for comfort. When she and her sister Quelea had decided to check on her, they found her kneeling motionless before an altar, a golden flame burning upon it.

"I mustn't let go now, my daughters, lest the Flame consume me." She sounded tired, her actual age seeping into her voice. "It is a fickle thing, chaotic in nature, and I fear what would happen were I to lose control midway."

The two Daughters looked at each other. They wanted to get help, but who could they call? Neither wanted to leave the room, and ringing an alarm bell might disrupt their mother's focus. The Flame flittered wildly for a moment, then recovered just as quickly.

"I…forgive me, my daughters. This wasn't so deadly when I began, but it quickly got out of control. I'm losing power, and soon I won't be able to hold the Flame together." The light was reflected in her eyes. "But I am _so very close_ , I can feel it. Imagine, the Age of Fire Eternal!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Quelaag and the Captain had stopped when they had come across three of her siblings waiting for her. She had been especially surprised to see Qayleb moving about on his own today.

Quelaan stepped forward as she approached, fidgeting with her pale blonde hair. "Dear sister, something is terribly, terribly wrong!"

Quelaag's face hardened. "Is it the rebels? Have they finally struck?"

The blonde Daughter's eyes were wide with fear. "No, it's…Qayleb sensed something a short while ago. Mother's experiment…it's dangerous! We need to help her immediately!" She gestured the two over to a nearby balcony. Below, they could see how a nearby section of the city sloped down, eventually coming to a large enclosed area. "They're down there!"

"Alright. Alright." Quelaag paced for a moment. "Alright, Quelaan, you're coming with me. Mother always listens to you." She turned to Ornstein. "Wait here; this is a family matter. We'll be back before you know it." She turned to go, speaking to her brother. "However you're doing it, keep connected to Mother. You may be steadying things down there!"

Qayleb nodded and sat down, eyes half-closed. A tiny bead of lava oozed out of a sore above his eye, and his sister quickly wiped it away.

Ornstein reached out and caught Quelaag's arm. "My lady, I must insist I come with you."

The Daughter's eyes blazed. "Then I will give you _an order_ to stay here." Her arm flared with heat, forcing him to let go, and the two sisters took off down the hall. He stared after them, fingers moving restlessly.

"Worry not, Ornstein. Our eldest may be bossy, but she often knows best."

He grunted and went back to the balcony, staring intently down at the chamber of interest. In a few moments, the two had appeared on the stairs leading up to it, taking the stairs three at a time.

Qayleb let out a horrible full-throated scream.

The air shimmered with heat.

In the space of a single heartbeat, a wave of red fire blasted out from the chamber, throwing everyone to the floor.

He had been surprised, but he made up his mind in just one heartbeat more.

Queyla was down there.

Getting his feet under him, he dashed for the balcony's edge. The Daughters were too busy trying to focus their energy into some sort of ring that Qayleb wore. He hadn't stopped screaming yet.

He vaulted the railing and dropped through the air, landing on a steep decline of volcanic rock. Sparks flew from his boots as he slid swiftly down it, crouching to preserve his balance. His descent was interrupted by a lava flow, but he deftly leapt it and continued unwaveringly downward. He hit the stones of the lower level and rolled to his feet, continuing his momentum to achieve maximum speed.

He was stopped when another wave of fire spewed from the heart of the city, brighter than the last. The force of it stopped all of his momentum, ripping him off his feet and hurling him through a nearby pillar.

Despite his drive to get to Queyla, he took several moments to get up. His vision was swimming, black spots dancing at the edges of his vision. He hadn't even been directly hit by either wave, and he felt a nauseating sensation coursing through his body. The stone pillar that had been broken over his back wasn't helping things either.

He staggered to his feet, just as the largest wave yet tore out in a ring, the speed of its passing slamming him back against a nearby wall.

His pack was thrown from his back, the contents spilling across the bricks.

There wasn't any strength in his limbs. He lay on the edge of consciousness, staying awake through pure force of will.

His unfocused eyes locked on to the flower.

It had come unwrapped when the pack had been emptied, and was now located delicately on the edge of the nearby wall.

Gritting his teeth, he forced his body to bend to his will.

For a moment, he was back in the Dragon Wars.

Dying in the pits carved in the ground by the terrible strength of ancient beings, writhing bodies in their death throes all around him.

He stood up in his memory.

He stood up in Izalith.

He continued on, not at any great speed, but faster than if he were dead.

When he reached the entrance to the chamber, the heat emanating from within nearly dropped him again. There was no sign of Quelaag or Quelaan, the area was scorched and twisted, the stones melted.

Queyla, he had to find her.

He limped on, using his spear as a crutch.

There was an ominous rumbling noise coming from the chamber, suddenly punctuated by a scream.

Drawing from some last reservoir of strength, the captain sped up, coming at last to the heart of the problem.

Horrors awaited him.

He arrived just in time to see Queyla fall to her knees, roots consuming her hungrily and bursting from her chest with one final scream. Orange energy hung hazily around the writhing mass.

He wasn't here.

He was back in memory.

Pulling himself over the dead and dying, trying to see the sun.

He reached her, what was left.

The sun had set.


	18. Chapter 18

Ornstein woke, moving from nightmare to nightmare.

The incredible heat hit him first, followed by the sound of a crackling flame. It was an odd noise, off in some fundamental way from the sound you would hear from your fireplace. He had only heard that peculiar resonance from one other source before.

The First Flame.

He opened his eyes with difficulty. The heat, ash, and sweat had crusted them over slightly.

At first, he saw nothing but a few thin strips of light in his vision, then realized that the heat had fused his visor closed in some places. It was a titanic effort to remove it, but he finally grasped the scorched remains of the plume and hauled it off, sending it scraping across the floor. He almost regretted doing so, as the heat was more noticeable now. At least he could breathe.

As he did just that, memory of the recent event returned to him.

He remembered where he was.

He turned his head to look where Queyla used to be.

A monstrous cluster of root-like growths had taken her place.

As he watched, they shifted and twitched. They were still growing and expanding, but not as fast as…as…

Her agonized final scream reverberated through his head like a dire aria.

He let his head fall down on the stones.

Some would greet death with wailing and moaning, or wanton destruction. He had.

He had been there already.

This just made him feel empty, despair lying heavily upon his back. Perhaps he would never move, just lie here and let death carry him off…

A scream pierced the air, and Ornstein squeezed his eyes shut tight. Would he ever stop hearing that?

It came again, a different one. This one definitely belonged to a man. They were coming from the streets above.

Duty called.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sif was trotting along back to New Londo, taking his time. His partner had seemed like he was busy, so he likely wouldn't mind.

There were many ways back to the human city, but he had decided to take the Firelink Shrine entrance to see if he couldn't swipe some food. He could smell it on the wind as he descended a set of stone stairs carved into the side of the great mountain.

The Guardians of the Shrine seemed surprised to see him, so he wagged his tail vigorously to assure them he meant no harm.

Of course, they _did_ seem to be more concerned with the larger creature that had apparently come up from below.

It stood about ten feet tall, a massive red-furred beast with the face of a skeletal ram, if a ram had pointed fangs and glowing yellow eyes.

There were two very similar beings that already lay slain on the tiles, amongst numerous small white-robed bodies.

Sif decided he did not like these new beasts.

His sword was out of its scabbard in a flash, and he raced towards the thing, deftly dodging a swipe of its deadly-looking claws. He rolled on his side as its bony tail struck a Guardian and sent him flying, then leapt onto its back and stabbing downwards with his sword. The blade met resistance as it pierced the thick corded muscle, and Sif knew that this maneuver wouldn't have been possible with his old sword.

Despite being bitten with such a long fang, the beast roared and reached back for him, grabbing a rough fistful of his fur. It hauled him over its head and hurled him onto the stones at its feet with a thunderous crash.

He lay there for a moment, trying to draw breath back into his lungs, and the demon saw its opportunity. With a fearsome growl, it brought its bony fists together and raised them above its head for a powerful blow, ignoring the large hole in its back.

The Guardians did their duty.

They may have been smaller than many of the beings these days, but that didn't change their ability. Two had shot up its back in a heartbeat, sinking their short swords into its eyes. Three more had leapt in front of Sif, combining the protection of their shields to stop the demon's strike. They were staggered by the hit, but withstood it. Together, all five landed a flurry of stabs and slashes all over the creature's body, painting red across the otherwise clean pillars and floor.

The beast swayed on its feet, and Sif readied his sword.

But it had finally had enough, and toppled to the ground, lifeless.

There were a few moments where everyone left standing caught their breath, but only a few.

"Well, where's your master, friend?" One of the Guardians spoke through his odd white shroud. His voice was rough, as if unused to speaking, and he had a curious accent.

Why did the two-legs always try to talk to him, Sif wondered. He obviously couldn't talk back. He was a _wolf_ for crying out loud, not one of those fancy forest _cats_! He reversed the grip on his sword and sheathed it.

More Guardians had materialized out of seemingly nowhere, some with red marring their robes. They all bowed silently as they arrived, and Sif began to feel silly. That was reserved for the important two-legs.

The Guardian from before cleared his throat and tried again. "Where is your partner?"

Well, the least he could do was humor them. He began motioning with his head. Absolutely ridiculous, really. This wasn't how wolves spoke, or how two-legs spoke, but for some reason they seemed to like this best.

They realized that he had been indicating the sign for New Londo.

"Grand. Tell Knight Artorias that Izalith is in grave danger. Captain Ornstein is in need of assistance." The ranks of Guardians stood in silent, solemn rows, virtually no evidence they weren't statues.

With a _whuff_ , the Great Grey Wolf bounded down to the elevator for New Londo. It seemed that no rest existed for a Knight of Gwyn.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Gough clapped his hands together, causing dirt to fly off of them. He was in the human town of Ten-stones, where his good friend Artorias had lived before the whole rebellion mess. He set the last of the bricks for the new building's base, having dug out the basement with his massive hands. He was standing in it now, surveying his work, still managing to be significantly taller than the nearby humans that had gathered to watch him.

"Mmm, yes. That will do, I think. Now we move to the timber. What say you, sir farmer?"

The man in question walked around the structure, examining the fine craft that the giant had wrought. The bricks were exactly flat, cut finely, so much so that the corners were sharp. Gough noticed this.

"Oh, my apologies! I will sand those down. We wouldn't want someone cutting themselves on that!" He began absently rubbing the nearby corner with his callused palms.

The crowd seemed a bit disquieted by the whole affair, but if the giant realized this, it didn't show.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Hm?" The giant turned to acknowledge the speaker, switching hands to continue his work.

The man who spoke had a sword buckled at his belt. Dark circles had formed under his eyes.

"Why are you here? Did your Lord send you to keep us in line?"

The giant smiled, almost a fatherly expression. "Nay, I am here of my own volition." His green eyes panned over the damaged town. It had been sort of a wreck before the rebellion, but there had been a small skirmish here during it, and some buildings had been completely destroyed. "I thought I would help thee rebuild, stronger than ever."

"We only need to rebuild because your _thugs_ tore it apart!" The sword had been drawn at some point, and there were some murmurs of assent from the crowd. Others hung back and kept silent.

Gough looked at the man sadly, then began lifting himself out of the basement. "Oh, manling."

The man lifted his sword, pointing it at the giant as he approached, suddenly very aware of his size. Gough ignored the sword, kneeling in front of him.

"Sir, this—" he gestured to the remaining mess, "gives me no pleasure, nor can I believe that it pleases Lord Gwyn." He reached out and gently tapped the man's shoulder. "War harms _everyone_ , sir. I was forced to destroy a certain plaza that I was quite fond of during the rebellion." His eyes acquired a faraway look. "My wife and I were married in that plaza. I was very distracted at the time; the columns were asymmetrical by a foot or so…" A wide smile split his craggy face. "But I digress."

The man had started shaking his head before the Hawkeye had finished. "As if you don't have enough up there in the city!" He gestured with his bared sword. "You _dare_ come down here and rub your opulence in our faces!"

The giant sighed, the sound like the wind through the trees. "All we can do is our best."

At that moment, a white bird alighted on the giant's shoulder. Turning to look at it, he noticed a message attached to its leg.

"Ah, hopefully some good news."


	19. Chapter 19

"I'm afraid there's not been a word out of him so far. He would have likely jumped back into the thick of things had we not grabbed him." The silver knight looked over his shoulder at the tent that had been set up near the entrance to Izalith. "And thank the Great Lord we got to him when we did. It's only been getting worse over there."

Ciaran nodded and dismissed the knight, entering the tent with Artorias and Sif in tow. Inside, Ornstein sat on a makeshift stretcher, his helmet on the ground at his feet. He was looking at its scorched surface with a blank, unfocused expression. There were burns on his face and neck, but they weren't too bad. He had been incredibly fortunate.

A cleric entered the tent, moving supplies around. "The Captain refused to let us heal those burns. Maybe you could convince him otherwise? Izalith is home to very different sicknesses than Anor Londo."

Ornstein didn't react as they got close. Ciaran knew right away that he would permit no such thing. His red eyes looked dull, his pale skin darkened with burns and soot.

"Ornstein? How are you holding up?"

Instead of answering, he looked away and absently scratched dried demon blood off of his pauldron.

This was bad. She had heard what had happened to the Witch, and only three of her Daughters were accounted for after the blast, with two confirmed dead and two missing. As the masses of demons were swelling across the obsidian fields, things weren't looking great. She had discovered a terrible truth when she had taken this information to Gwyn.

He had not been present in his throne room. Instead, he was in the Kiln of the First Flame, tending to its namesake.

It had been sputtering madly as if being buffeted by a strong wind.

She had no difficulty connecting these two situations. Gods, what would happen if the First Flame acted like the newly dubbed 'Chaos Flame' when tampered with, drawing power from Gwyn to release massive destructive energy?

She pushed it to the back of her mind. Gwyn was the most powerful of all the gods in Lordran, still as towering and mighty as ever. There were plenty of other immediate problems to deal with. Word had gotten out that undead had begun to turn up in New Londo, but they were being tight-lipped about the whole affair. Even so, Ciaran had managed to deduce that one of the Four Kings had succumbed to the curse. She had spied him locked away deep in the citadel, a sniveling mess, skin discolored and hair falling out.

As far as she knew, there was no cure for undeath.

"Ornstein, at least speak to us." Artorias drew close, laying his hand on the Dragonslayer's shoulder. This elicited a small change in expression, a tightening around his eyes.

Sif approached on the other side, nudging at his idle hand encouragingly.

Something stirred under the surface of the Captain's face, and he patted Sif of the head in a somewhat awkward manner. He didn't say anything, however, just focused on the wolf.

Artorias sighed and squeezed Ornstein's shoulder before turning away. "Alright. Sif; stay with him for a bit. We'll find you when we need you."

As the two left the tent, Ciaran slipped her hand into Artorias's, which gently enveloped hers. He followed her as she walked to a nearby ridge. She stared out at the city that was slowly being torn apart by the demons writhing within, lost in her thoughts, and he decided not to interrupt her train of thought. He simply held her hand and enjoyed a companionable silence.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

When the silver knights had first descended upon Izalith, their priority had been to retrieve Captain Ornstein and pull out to a more defensible position. That had quickly been altered when they had seen the demons.

They were ripping through the residences, slaughtering anything that wasn't a demon. Priority had changed to include protecting the civilians.

This didn't last long, however. The amount of demons was steadily increasing, and even some of the civilians that they had saved had transformed into hideous bloodthirsty monsters. It was an awful situation, and they had had to pull out.

Commander Korde observed what was left of Izalith through his binoculars. The demons would run out of things to kill soon. He had most of his troops here, at the main entrance to Izalith. They would be the most likely to come this way, seeing the large number of knights. On the off chance they didn't bite, he had detachments posted at a few other lesser known exits.

He had a bad feeling about this.

He'd fought armies before, but even the least organized of those had at least _some_ pattern to them. He got the feeling that this would be more like fighting beasts.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, they were suddenly boiling out of the ruins, loping, slithering, and rolling straight for them.

"ARCHERS!" he roared, holding up a hand.

A two-deep line of archers that stretched for yards and yards pulled back on their massive bows in unison, each planted against the ground and standing taller than they were. The infantry behind them stirred restlessly, but held their ranks.

Korde watched the horde approach. There was no front line, the fiends were just closing as fast as they could. He made note of at least twelve varieties.

"HOLD!" His fist remained clenched over his head.

The roars and cries echoed through the massive subterranean chamber.

"RELEASE!" He dropped his hand, and over a hundred steel spikes soared into the oncoming crush of bodies. There was a collective howl of pain and rage, and they sped up.

"SECOND VOLLEY!"

The archers in front stepped back as the ones behind them stepped forward and loosed their greatarrows. The stench of the beasts was starting to become noticeable.

"THIRD VOLLEY!"

The first line had been readying their ammunition as the second had fired, and they released after stepping forward.

The ground began to shake as the demons approached.

"ARCHERS BACK, INFANTRY IN!"

Armor flashing, six-deep rows of silver knights took up their positions with disciplined movements. As one, they turned slightly to the right, raising their shields and locking them against their neighbors' shields.

There were a few seconds of tense silence and shifting grips on weapons.

Hearts beating faster.

Breath coming quicker.

Jaws locking.

The impact was hard, the full force of multiple several-ton demons moving as fast as they could in a straight line. The shields shuddered, but the wall held the blow.

The knights wielding halberds had been stationed in front, and they stabbed outwards on Korde's mark. Demons recoiled, or fell dead.

Not everyone was so lucky.

A snake-like demon covered in bony plates dashed underneath the shields, flailing its body in the ranks below and sending knights flying. Those not thrown began hacking at the thing from all sides, but not before it had opened its maw frighteningly wide and swallowed a knight whole. His struggling could be seen and heard as he was forced down its throat by powerful muscles.

Korde leapt down from his position, cape fanning out behind him in a brilliant white display, and brought his glaive's blade down into the snake demon's head. It rose up and shook itself, trying to get him loose and apparently not dying anytime soon.

Another silver knight slashed into the unprotected belly of the demon while it was exposed, and his sword bit deep.

The thing fell to the ground, head barely attached to the body, but still moving weakly. Korde twisted his blade, and the yellow light faded in the creature's eyes.

Cutting it open, he found that it had wicked teeth lining its stomach, and the unfortunate knight had not survived the encounter.

"HOLD YOUR LINE, MEN! TIGHTER RANKS!"

The beasts were hammering relentlessly on the shield line, and some had started to get wise to it, groping over or under it with various nightmarish appendages to slay knights.

Korde rushed up and stabbed a Taurus demon in the heart as it raked its claws over the face of a knight struggling to hold the wall. They were getting tired.

The demons weren't deterred by their dead. Instead, they began climbing on top of those dead at the shield line and throwing themselves over it. A Capra demon leapt over, screaming triumphantly, only to be nearly cut in two by the upward two-handed stroke of a knight's greataxe.

"REINFORCEMENTS UP!"

A fresh batch of knights moved towards the front line, forming up just as the previous one disbanded and retreated, clerics healing those they could. They lost about six yards of ground in the process.

Korde had been deeply disappointed in the battlefield they had been forced to take. It was incredibly flat, offering no use for the archers except for the immediate volleys. The only positive aspect was that the enemy didn't have any special advantages either.

"FAUX BREAK!"

This was a bit of a risky move, but the demons were far too powerful to drag this out. They would simply outlast the knights if it came down to a contest of endurance.

The center of the front line began to slowly give ground, the nearby shields moving to keep the wall unbroken. Seeing what they perceived as weakness, the demons pushed their assumed advantage. They were allowed to push it for yards and yards, until Korde saw a brief break in the inward flow…

"CLOSE RANKS!"

More halberds moved up suddenly from reserves, and a massive swarm of swordsmen followed them. They simultaneously reformed the original line and sealed a number of demons within a bristling hedge of gleaming swords.

The swordsmen rushed in, hacking and slashing ruthlessly. A rubbery cone shaped demon covered with eyes began releasing thick gas from its tentacles, and armor and weapons alike began crumbling to dust. It took the helmet and most of the breastplate from a knight, leaving his flesh untouched. He drove his sword through one of its eyes, and dragged it to the side, easily parting the soft flesh.

He took demon claws to his neck a moment later, bereft of his armor.

Korde began to sweat.


	20. Chapter 20

The land may have been flat, but Gough was tall.

He leveled his bow, and caught a disturbingly obese demon between the eyes. It crashed to the ground, flattening several smaller ones.

"It seems the horde shall not be thinning anytime soon."

Artorias drove his sword into the ground and hauled himself to his feet. "You're right, but we can't just leave the people in Izalith to die."

Ciaran seemed to materialize nearby. "I tried to get Ornstein to come with us, but he's in bad shape still." She crossed her arms and looked back toward his tent. "I always knew he was a bit…damaged by his past, but I think he may have finally broken."

Artorias smiled sympathetically and rubbed her back. "I'm sure he'll come around. He's not one to neglect his duties, after all. And where else should he be but at the head of the charge?"

She nodded, absently giving his arm a squeeze before moving up to get a view of the battle.

"Knight Artorias? Everyone's ready to go." Giroldus was suited completely with steel plated armor, greatsword leaning on his shoulder. He had added a scarf across his face after seeing the ashes and dust that was being kicked up out there.

The group going with the Knights were a handpicked group of specialists. There was a detachment of silver knights that had exceeded their peers in skill, a large man in a burlap cloak that continuously muttered prayers to himself, an excellent halberdier that looked at everyone as though he might fight them, and Giroldus, who absently twirled his greatsword as if it were made of tin.

Artorias addressed the group. "Alright everyone. Firstly, I would like to thank you all for the courage you displayed in agreeing to accompany us. This will likely be quite a fight. Initially though, we'll be sneaking around the main force as best we can. We've got to reach the city, and we think that they would likely target us as a whole mass if they see that there's less of us than in the main army. So, since stealth is key…we'll be operating under my own orders, as I am quite obviously the sneakiest individual here, Gough excluded."

Ciaran rolled her eyes and pushed in front of him. "We'll be under me. Regroup at the far end of the field and await orders."

There were bows and nods from the group, and they were off.

She put her hands on her hips and crooked her eyebrows up at him. "What am I going to do with you?"

He leaned forward and rested his forehead on hers. "Learn to recognize my stealth expertise?"

She chuckled quietly, running her hands along his jawline.

Gough made a noise in his throat and gathered up his things. "Well, I suppose I shall see you two at the far end?" His green eyes sparkled in between the bars of his helmet, telltale wrinkles at the corners of them revealing his wide smile.

Ciaran moved her head to the side as he lumbered by. "Don't look so pleased Gough! I can _hear_ that unspoken 'I told you so!'"

"Don't you know that Gough is always right?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Okay everybody, here's the shape of things. We're going into Izalith to save as many civilians as we can, and to see if we can't locate any remaining members of the Witches. We won't have access to many healing miracles, just what our friend here can provide." Ciaran indicated the man in the cloak. "So, if you are in _dire need_ , find him. Otherwise, I'll be frank; walk it off. His real designated purpose is to heal the survivors over there." She made eye contact with everyone to make sure they understood. "Okay, roll out."

On the far end of the field, there was a bit of a downward slope. The group was taking advantage of this in a way that the army could not, being too large. It ran about three quarters of the way across the field. After that, they were on their own.

Ciaran darted around the group as they made their way, adjusting their positions and correcting their course. At the end of the dip, she signaled them to halt.

Slowly crawling upward, she peeked over the lip of the ditch.

The demons were continuing their blistering assault, but the sliver knights hadn't lost too much ground yet.

She waved them forward, and they slipped into the ruins of Izalith.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The woman's child cried in the darkness of the ruined house.

"Hush, hush now my dear! We must be quiet!"

Outside, demons roved throughout the burnt city, hunting any survivors. It was a lot quieter now than it used to be. For some reason, the majority of the demons had left recently.

The baby didn't understand their predicament though, and cried on, despite her rocking and speaking softly to her.

And there were beings outside listening for such a sound.

A hair-raising howl echoed through the block.

Within a few seconds, demons could be heard approaching from several directions, scouring the area for the source of the sound. She ducked further into the building, hoping to muffle the cries.

To no avail.

She screamed as a clawed hand punctured the wall and began clawing for a handhold, tearing a massive hole open. When a skeletal head poked through the hole, she pointed unwaveringly at it and drew upon her inner strength.

With a wordless shout, flames bathed the creature's head, and it pulled out, surprised.

She sprinted for the other room, only to find it occupied by three smaller demons with goat-like heads. The teeth they bared were certainly not goat-like.

She screamed, standing her ground for the last time.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Upon hearing a scream, Ciaran's ears pinpointed the source within seconds.

She clambered up to Gough's shoulder. "Gough! The far brick building!"

Without breaking his stride, the giant nocked a massive arrow and pulled back on the thick cord. Ciaran hopped onto the greatarrow, and he made a few mental adjustments for her weight.

The he released.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

As the demons closed in, the last remaining window in the building shattered inwards violently. Before anyone could react, a massive steel bolt had impaled a demon against a wall, and there was a flurry of blades in the room. The other two demons were dead before they knew what hit them.

The woman hugged her baby to her chest, taking an unsure step away from the figure in black segmented armor.

"Ma'am, we're here to help."

"Thank the gods. There are monsters everywhere!"

Ciaran nodded. "We're going to get you out of here. Both of you."

"We?"

The wall was ripped apart, revealing two Taurus demons and an odd cone-shaped monstrosity covered with eyes. Its claws on the end of its tentacles clicked unnervingly.

There was a shout as Giroldus's greatsword hacked into a demon's tail, and the rest of the group arrived.

"Watch out for the one with all the eyes! It can melt your equipment!"

Artorias charged forward. "I've got it!" He threw his sword, and it impaled a Taurus demon up to the hilt. "Here, hold that."

He reached down quickly, grabbing the weird legs on the many-eyed demon and hoisting it into the air. With it upside-down, he slammed it down over the head of the demon he had impaled, that was still struggling in a lively manner.

"Yes, we."

The Silver knights formed up on Ciaran, shields out, protecting the civilian.

"I want you knights to form up on the civilians we round up and accompany them wherever we go."

"Yes, m'lady."

More demons had arrived, drawn by the noise. Bizarre shapes showed amongst them; some shaped like spiny serpents, some with what appeared to be centipedes for arms, others that had bulbous bodies and no legs, but floated about in a disconcerting way. It was one of the latter that attacked first, spewing flames from its mouth towards the woman.

Several knights stepped forward, raising their shields against the strange red fire. It washed over the shields, granting protection to the woman.

The halberdier leapt from what was left of a nearby building, planting his weapon into the side of the demon. It thrashed in pain, and was brought down by several large arrows fired by the knights. The halberdier jumped off of it as it fell to the ground, stabbing into the neck of a Taurus demon. Giroldus sliced the tendons on the thing's ankles, and it fell to the ground to be finished quickly.

Artorias planted his foot on the chest of the unfortunate Taurus demon he impaled, pushing it to the ground and drawing his sword out of it to execute it and the demon firmly planted on his head in one move. He raised his shield with his right arm as a centipede demon leapt for him. It met one of Gough's arrows in midair, and only lightly bumped his shield instead.

Ciaran jumped up, grabbing Artorias's shoulders to throw herself over his head and onto the disoriented demon. A quick analysis revealed a likely weakness between its plated skin, so she drove both tracers in deep and made a scissor-like motion with the blades.

The demon crumpled.

The serpent had leapt for the man in the burlap cloak, only to be blown backward by a silvery force miracle. As it collected itself, he drove a sword through its head into the ground. When it didn't appear to be dying anytime soon, Giroldus stabbed with his sword farther down its body that also penetrated the ground below. When it continued to thrash, the halberdier pinned it to the ground in a third spot with a shout. Seeing this, Artorias reached out and grasped its tail, pulling roughly and effectively slicing the demon in half. He whirled it above his head, sending blood spattering on the nearby area, and let it fly at one of the floating demons. Dazed by the impact, it drifted lower.

Ciaran leapt onto its bloated belly, climbing up to its ugly head and planting her tracers therein. Gough punctured its belly, causing flames to pour out onto the street. Everyone managed to make it to cover, and the knights protected the civilians again. Their shields were starting to blacken from the chaos flames, but they didn't seem to have any apparent adverse effects.

"Sorry everyone! Don't pop them!"

A yell came from a building down the street. "Help! Over here!"

Unfortunately, more demons heard this too, closing in from multiple positions.

Ciaran sliced open the throat of a wiry demon. "We need to pick up the pace."

Gough punctured the belly of a far off floating demon, sending the searing flames within roaring down on other approaching demons. "Agreed. Let us be off."

They tore through several blocks, movement becoming increasingly more difficult as more demons gathered, making more noise that drew _more_ demons.

They had halted in a shattered tower before a bridge to heal the civilians. Some had lost limbs, others had bad cuts. The man in the cloak kneeled down with them, murmuring miracles and closing their wounds. "I can't grow back limbs, at least not in these conditions."

"We'll carry them." A silver knight gave away his weapons to another, throwing a legless civilian over each shoulder. Another one lifted the woman that was missing an arm off of the ground, as she was having a hard time adjusting to the weight difference.

Ciaran knelt on the floor, drawing in the dust that had settled there. "Alright, here we are. We've combed _this_ part of the city as best we could for now." She indicated the civilians, who numbered about forty. "We need to press deeper into the city, but we need to get them to safety first. If we cross this bridge, then double back, we'll be taking the shortest route."

There were nods of assent from the group.

Gough squinted at the rough map, idly adding in features of the city with the tip of an arrow. "Hmm…not this bridge."

Ciaran looked at him quizzically. "What?"

"Not this bridge. I've been in this city before, and on every occasion I have noticed this bridge. I can't put my finger on it, but the architecture has always disagreed with me."

"Gough, its virtually undamaged by this whole event, and big beings used to come and go on it all the time. Hundreds of people at a time, sometimes."

The giant scratched his chin, making a sound like rubbing high-grit sandpaper together. "Hmmm…I suppose you're right. Let's carry on."

"Alright, move out and keep your heads down."

They set off down the massive bridge, the Silver knights keeping watch over the civilians in the rear with the man in the cloak. Ciaran and Artorias took the lead with Gough, Giroldus, and the halberdier in the middle.

Gough grunted and patted a support as they passed by it. "Well, I admit to being wrong! In all my years, I had been too worried to traverse it, and yet it holds!"

The halberdier suddenly jerked his head up, staring off to the left. "Get off the bridge! Get off!"

Out of the smoke and dust, several large chunks of rubble flew towards the group.

Gough drew his bow, firing into one and deflecting it into another.

The third and fourth chunks flew on, hammering into the supports of the bridge.

With a thunderous crumbling noise, a large portion of the bridge fell, dropping Artorias and Ciaran into empty air.

 _ **I just want to thank all of you that have been with me so far, reading this story. Sorry it's taken so long to come out with this chapter!**_


	21. Chapter 21

The bridge had been necessary before all of this. The whole of Izalith proper could get very congested by the crowds of its denizens. It provided a new path, high above the usual thoroughfare, to both add convenience and the chance for a stunning view over a large portion of Izalith.

Not that there was much to see now.

Especially not when plummeting to the rubble-strewn cobblestones more than a thousand feet below.

As Ciaran fell, she habitually stretched her limbs out into a spread-eagle position in an attempt to slow her fall, the braid on her mask whipping upwards in the air as she sheathed her tracers to keep them from being wrenched away by the wind.

She was already realizing her grim odds of nicely meeting the approaching ground when a screeching sound pierced the air. She had a split second to see a pale, winged shape hurtling towards her before it struck, and sent her spinning haphazardly through the air.

Up was down, down was up, and she couldn't seem to regain her balance to fend the demons off as she tumbled. She bounced off of the side of a building and out into open air again, slamming into one of the batwing demons and taking it by surprise. She lashed out with a kick to its narrow throat and heard a crack.

The other demons must have lacked the ferocity of their kin, as they shied away at the realization that their prey could fight back. Ciaran almost wished they would stay so she could have some reference of what was up and down.

Not to mention she could have used some wings to spare her from the street below.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Artorias had been big all of his life. As such he hadn't really had much to fear from heights, especially not in his usual humble settings.

Of course that had changed once he had gotten to Anor Londo.

The entire city was built atop a _mountain_ for Gwyn's sake.

He had still never had any experience with falling a significant height, however, and knew little about how to react. Seeing Ciaran fan herself out, he tried to follow suit, but was much heavier and had started off in a spin from the bridge.

He was still able to make out what happened to her though, as the demons swooped at her again and again. He tried swiping at them with his sword, but it did nothing for him in the air but throw him into more of a spin.

He couldn't see very much, but he was sure their final destination was coming up shortly.

"Gwyn help me."

Artorias managed to sheath his sword with some difficulty, it wasn't going to save him here, and frantically tried to figure something out. He was falling next to a tall rock face, but it was too smooth and going by too fast to stop him from falling. If he jammed his sword into it, he could probably bring himself to a halt, but Ciaran would keep falling.

It might be able to redirect him though…

He waited until his spin brought him closer to the wall, losing precious seconds…

He slammed his legs out to their full length, punching divots into the rock face with the force of the motion. This propelled him out farther into the open air, where Ciaran deftly dispatched one of the demons with a well-placed kick.

He was traveling quickly, still falling, but shooting horizontal as well. It looked like he might miss his target…

He stretched out his arm and barely hooked an index finger around her belt, drawing her within his reach.

"Hold on!"

He had barely gotten the warning out of his mouth when they slammed into the remains of a small building, his body and shield utterly destroying the upper floor upon impact.

Things went blissfully quiet and dark.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Ciaran blinked awake what felt like an hour later.

Things were mostly dark, and she was in some kind of enclosed space…

The blurry memory of what had brought her here jumped back into her mind, as well as what had cushioned her fall.

"Artorias!"

She pushed at the nearest surface, and it fell away limply, revealing itself as his right arm.

She rolled over, trying to get her bearings after the jarring impact, and found Artorias beneath her. He was sprawled out over what was left of the building's stone foundations, helmet lying nearby with a sizeable dent in it.

"Oh no."

She brushed a few timbers away from his face and pulled his hood back. "Artorias! Are you alright?" When there was no response, she checked his pulse. It was there, if a little slow. He was breathing, she thought, but the pattern was odd…

A wheezing laugh came from his mouth.

"I-I'm fine. I'm fine. Always l-looking for excuses to put you-your hands on me."

"Artorias!" She slammed her fists down on his chest.

"Oof! Okay, I know, that-that was a bad one. Honestly, I think-I think I'm good." He lifted a hand to his head to dab at a bloody spot. "I-I just hit m-my head, nothing-nothing too important." He stared at his hand, brow furrowing while he blinked rapidly. "Uh, actually, I can't see straight at all."

"Oh, Gwyn. Hold still for a moment."

She tentatively combed his hair away from the wound to get a better view, and let out a little groan. "Oh…Artorias, don't panic, alright?"

He didn't move, but his eyes swiveled up to look at her in a concerned, but unfocused fashion. " _Why_?"

"I'm no cleric, but I'm pretty sure you've fractured your skull." She waved her hand in front of his face. "Still blurry?"

His eyes seemed to have a hard time tracking her hand. He rubbed at them. "Yeah…this is bad."

As if they had been waiting for such an opportunity, the demons descended.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Above, things were not going well.

The rest of the group had been swarmed almost immediately after the collapse. The demons pressed harder than ever, and in the confusion caused in the collapse, they had taken several lives. Three silver knights lay dead on the stones, another thrown over the side with a few civilians. As it was, the remainder were formed up in a circle around the rest against the approaching horde.

Gough, as the last Knight standing, had to resort to swinging his massive bow like a club. He was not exactly made for speed, however, and was at a disadvantage against the trio of Centipede demons that had assaulted him.

One of them leapt into the air, throwing itself at him. He batted them over the side of the bridge with a swing of his bow, the blow leaving him open to the second one to leap onto him. It sank its many teeth into his arm. The third one bull rushed him, knocking him to the ground.

Gough stared up at the looming maw of the demon through the bars of his helmet as it bore down on him.

"Oh dear."

He jammed his bow as deeply as he could into its throat, only for a larger one to open grotesquely on its torso.

"Ohhhh dear."

He fought with the demon attached to his arm, but it held on tight.

"Oh bother."

As the thing was about an inch from his helmet, something approached at incredible speed, slamming into it and throwing it to the ground.

"Ornstein! How wonderful to see thee, Captain!"

The Dragonslayer stood before him, helmetless, red hair flying about wildly.

Planting his spear into the other demon, he levered it over the edge. It twisted in the air as it fell.

Stabbing his weapon into the bridge, he offered Gough both hands. "I had a duty…to my friends."

Sif leapt onto the demon that Ornstein had shoved off of the giant, ending it with a few deft strokes.

"Let's get you sorted, where are Ciaran and Artorias?"

"Well…"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"This _is_ bad."

As if the converging horde wasn't bad enough, more demons kept falling down from the bridge above. A particularly cantankerous centipede demon fell and crushed a few Capra demons as they hefted makeshift weapons. The smaller demons weren't surviving the fall, but the big ones…

Artorias drove his sword into the ground, using it to help him climb to his feet with a groan. "Alright, let's take them down!"

Ciaran indicated the horde. "They're to your _right_ , Artorias."

The Knight adjusted himself, squinting at the demons. " _Alright_ , let's take them down!"

He charged into the mass, swinging his massive sword in a powerful arc that cut two Capra demons in half and wounded a Taurus. In his condition, he didn't see another Taurus that brought some sort of hammer down on his shoulder.

He fell to a knee, disoriented from the blow.

Ciaran jumped onto his back and leapt at the demon, burying her tracers in its eyes and twisting them.

It roared and fell away, flailing for a short while before succumbing to its wounds.

Artorias decided to switch up his tactics. He secured his shield on his back like a shell, taking his sword in both hands. He swung somewhat haphazardly, still mostly having success because they were being swarmed.

Ciaran bounced between enemies, hitting critical areas and poisoning them. As a Taurus demon charged her, she leapt up to meet it, pushing off its horns and allowing to bash its face against Artorias's shield. He grunted, but otherwise seemed fine. She tucked and rolled between his legs, hamstringing a centipede demon as it tried to blindside him.

Artorias noticed the creature after it slammed to the ground near him, and stabbed down, impaling its head.

"Look Ciaran, this is fun and all…" He took a claw to his side, turned and took off the demon's arm, "…but I don't think we're gonna last like this. We have to move."

She finished a demon after a few deft strokes. "I'm open to suggestions, front-line fighting _really_ isn't my strong suit!"

"Well…" He stabbed at a demon, missing completely, "…don't be too alarmed, but I think I'm losing sight completely."

"What?!"

"I said _don't be alarmed_!" He spun, decapitating a serpent-like demon as it opened its mouth wide.

"We need to get you back to our cleric. Now!" She deflected claws away from her face.

"I think I would have a hard time—" a demon slammed into his abdomen, "Oof! A hard time climbing up to that bridge, even if I _weren't_ going blind right now!" His swing managed to connect, slicing into a demon and sending it stumbling backwards. " _You_ have to go; I know you can make it!"

"Are you desiring a martyrdom, Artorias? That's not going to happen." She blocked a viscous blow.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

After regrouping on the bridge, the two Knights had decided that a rescue was in order. Using Sif to ferry the remaining civilians down the rubble of the collapsed bridge, they had managed to make it to the ground relatively easily. Most of the nearby demons seemed focused on the two below.

With the knights and the people tucked away momentarily, Ornstein and Gough dashed into action. Well, Gough strolled into action, not being built for quickness.

The Captain slashed and stabbed his way into the mob, loosing lightning occasionally. Every so often, he would get a glimpse of Artorias flailing wildly. _What is he doing? He was trained better than that._

Suddenly, Ciaran was there by his side. "Ornstein, thank the gods you're here!"

He nodded, skewering a Capra and throwing it aside. "What sort of Captain would I be if I abandoned my post?"

She brought a demon down. "Artorias is almost completely blind over there! We need that cleric!"

He considered their position. "That would be problematic, what with all the demons here. What we need to do is disappear. We cannot take on the whole demon city by ourselves."

Ciaran looked to her items on her belt. "I think I can help with that."

A moment later, Gough was visited by Ciaran on his shoulder. "Ah! Ciaran! I'm very glad to see you are well! Tell me, how was it that you two young people survived the fall? After all, it is _quite_ a ways down, I'd say—"

She cut into his ramble. "Gough! I need you to loose fire arrows with _these_ attached to them, so we can make an exit!"

The giant was holding his thumb up and looking at it against the collapsed bridge. "—approximately one thousand, two hundred, and thirty-two feet high. I told them it was excessive, you know. A poor choice on their part."

" _Gough_!"

"Hm? Oh yes, grand idea." The Hawkeye fixed the bombs to several of his huge arrows.

"Here we go, get ready to run! Ha ha!"

He was already walking backwards when he began firing into the crowd. Huge clouds of smoke billowed up from wherever they struck. In the confusion, Ornstein grabbed Artorias's arm and led him away into the ruins of Izalith.


	22. Chapter 22

Sorcery was an art, an expression of the soul projected into the material world. The gentle nature of the people of Oolacile was reflected in those sorceries. The streets were lit up at night with magic lights, damage done to the streets from weather repaired with magic. They had had troubles before due to their pacifism, their inability to effectively defend themselves, even though the Great Lord's forces often arrived quickly to mete out justice.

Cierte had thought before about developing a spell or two to repel bandits or creatures, to minimize damage to the pleasant city. After all, these people, they were worth it. Even now, as he mused in his study, he could hear people wishing each other well as they passed one another on the street in the warm night.

There was no question that Anor Londo would help them out in times of peril, but they couldn't be here immediately. People ended up hurt or worse sometimes. The first response to this had been to develop a spell to hide oneself. He was becoming convinced that a more…proactive approach was required.

"Father?"

Cierte blinked, straightening up to greet his daughter. "Qerra. How goes the mission?"

She was his only child, but hardly a child any longer. A woman in her own right. He would always be protective over her, despite her light objections.

Yet she was horribly vulnerable as the First Flame flickered and faded, as were they all.

He dreamt of it. The Kiln growing cold and dark, horrible things long-forgotten coming forth to replace humanity and their allies.

There was no stopping it, at least not by any knowledge he possessed.

But there were those that knew what he did not.

As a sorcerer, he was acutely aware that knowledge was power.

"Father, did you hear me?"

He shook his head to clear it. "I'm sorry darling. I—I just have a great deal on my mind."

She gave a searching look into his eyes, tiny almost nonexistent wrinkles appearing at the corners of her eyes in her concern. "Well, we have been looking into the caverns below the city, and have had some luck."

"Oh?" He got up, going over to the desk where a pitcher of wine sat with a light enchantment upon it that kept it cold. He poured her a glass, handing it to her. "Everyone is in good health? No issues?"

She accepted the glass, shaking her head. "Not as of yet. We discovered a passage that had been covered by some sort of landslide, quite a long time ago, if I had to guess. Some ways into it, a packed section of earth completely filled the passage. It appeared to be a lava tube almost."

"Interesting." He poured himself a drink, feeling his heart speed up despite his efforts to stay calm.

"Even more interesting was that we found what appeared to be extremely primitive shovels on the other side. They appeared to have been the tools used to move and pack the earth." She sipped from her glass, eyes holding a far-away look. "There were skeletons nearby. Like those who sealed the place walled themselves in and died in there."

He took a long pull from his glass, then carefully set it on his desk. "Qerra, I want you to stop."

"Father—"

"No, I—No. This seems like it isn't healthy. It was not my intention to make you dwell on dark thoughts, walk in dark places."

She stood up. "Father, if this is as important as you have said it is, then you understand that this _must_ be done!"

He looked into the dark red drink. "Oh, it will. I intend to travel down there myself. You're correct; it must be done. Please send the rest of your crew in here, I'm going to speak to each of them. If they are uncomfortable continuing, then they are perfectly within their rights to refuse to continue."

She furrowed her brow, but nodded her head. Finishing her drink, she turned to go.

"Qerra? I'm doing this for you. For all of you."

She smiled sadly. "I know, father. And we love you for it. Be well."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The consultation with the exploration party had gone much as expected. Out of the group, three had elected to remain.

Cierte pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Perhaps we're going about this the wrong way."

"Oh no, my friend, no." The rich voice rolled out from the other end of the room. "Rarely is the path straightforward."

The being across from Cierte identified itself as a Primordial Serpent. The sorcerer had been aware that the Great Lord confided in these creatures, but quite privately. He had never laid eyes upon one before, no one had, it seemed.

His grey skin was rough, and slightly reflective, ending in a round head quite unlike a usual serpent one might find walking in the woods. But like a serpent, he had no arms or legs. Upon his head, a surprisingly human-like face perched.

The proportions were different, the mouth and flat teeth very large. A bulbous nose sat above this, with a pair of growths dangling down on his upper lip, resembling a long mustache. His eyes were like polished granite, no whites visible. His pupils cut through the brown-red color; wide, rounded slits.

His name was Kaathe.

"What if we called upon the Silver Knights to investigate into the ruins?" The sorcerer stood up, walking to the window.

The Serpent extended himself further out of the hole that had been created for him so that his head remained next to Cierte, looking out the window. His head was easily larger than the man.

"You know very well that we cannot do such a thing. The Great Lord's armies are busy with the situation in Izalith, which, I will add, is also a byproduct of the flickering of the Flame."

"Oh, I know. I…I just haven't had to do things like this before. I'm no adventurer! I'm a scholar!"

"If it would set you at ease, I can tell you that no harm will befall you upon your journey."

Cierte looked at the Serpent. "Truly? How do you know?"

The Serpent chuckled. "All of my kind know many a thing, sorcerer." He retracted somewhat into the room, looking at the art on the wall. "You know, humans have come such a long way. I beseech you to continue your work, so that your kind's time not be cut short upon this earth. I foresee great works in the future of mankind, the effects of their actions changing the world."

The sorcerer considered this. "It's difficult to refuse when you put it like that."

"I will not lie and say that it will be an easy task. You _will_ meet resistance." He turned his ancient gaze upon the human. "But should you have the courage to push through this, you will have forever changed your people for the better."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The man in the burlap cloak had been intoning a lengthy prayer for a while now, holding Artorias's head in his hands. He had assured them that he could restore his sight, that Gwyn wouldn't allow such a fate to befall one of his Knights.

They were camped out in a ruined shell of a building, safe for now from the roving horde. Ornstein was staring out a window attentively, eyes panning over what was left of Izalith. Gough was with the refugees, volunteers, and silver knights, patting them on the shoulders and congratulating them for their valor.

"Well, I have to apologize." Artorias fidgeted as he laid on the floor. "We probably could have been out of the city by now if I hadn't…you know…lost my sight." He brought his hand up to his face, and Ciaran eased it back down.

"Hold _still_ Artorias. Let the human work."

He settled for crossing his arms for a second before crossing them the other way, then let them lay flat on the floor. "I'm sorry, I—I just…I've never been blind before."

Ciaran shrugged, patting his chest. "You'll be fine. I've seen clerics restore sight before."

He shifted so that his face was turned toward her voice, his eyes moving frantically this way and that. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest. "Ciaran, I'm still _blind_. I know this might sound strange to you, but I'm not really used to having someone around that can just wipe away my wounds."

She considered this. "There wasn't any sort of holy man in your town?"

He laid flat, closing his eyes. "Not really, not like this man. When I got gored by a giant boar at age sixteen, I thought I was dead. Everyone did. I struggled through a few months in poor health before I _began_ to feel better. But being a Knight, we have access to…to _miracles_." He tilted his head up to turn his blind eyes to the healer and gave him a smile. "You're a hero, sir."

The man cleared his throat. "You can call me Casper, Sir Artorias."

Artorias sat up quickly, almost throwing Ciaran and Casper across the room. "My sight! It's back!" He lifted Ciaran up. "And what a sight to come to!" He enveloped her in a hug.

She pulled away and shook her head incredulously, but a smile lingered. "I never had a doubt, Artorias."

"Well it's a miracle to me!" He got to his feet. "Ornstein, glad you could make it!"

The Captain kept his eyes on the scene outside, but clasped forearms with Artorias. "You weren't doing very well on your own. It's quieted down in this area, we should be able to make a quick exit of this cursed city soon."

Sif nudged Artorias's leg, and he got petted emphatically. He let his tongue hang out as his ears got the scratching they had been missing.


	23. Chapter 23

There are a great many things that are easier said than done.

For example; a quick exit from the corpse of Izalith during the dawn of the Demon War.

The Knights and company had left their hiding place, venturing down corridors and alleyways ravaged by demonkind, doing their best to elude detection. It seemed as though the demons had a tendency to swarm, which was fortunate. Usually this meant that they only encountered stragglers here and there, which they were grateful for, on account of their precious cargo.

Elityr peered around a broken column, clutching his halberd tightly and wondering how he had ended up in this situation. A few years ago, if someone would have asked him to serve under the Great Lord of Anor Londo, he may have stabbed them. Now here he was, throwing in his lot with _Silver Knights_. He looked back over his shoulder, watching one such being half-carry, half-steady a dazed looking old man. The knight had been bitten severely where the neck meets the shoulder, and had the bloody puncture marks to show for it. Yet you wouldn't know it by the way he carried on.

Maybe he wasn't with such a bad group after all.

A short distance away, Giroldus approached Ornstein.

"Captain, do we mean to leave the city with the civilians and come back to look for the Daughters?" the Berenike shifted uneasily.

Ornstein looked down at the knight with a startling expression of apathy. "Have you seen any signs of either of them? Their brother either?"

He was caught off guard by the response. "Well, no, but I—"

The Captain gestured to the people with them, numbering a mere thirty-five out of the thousands who had inhabited Izalith. "Lay your eyes upon them. I say we've got ourselves a good twelve whom are capable of a decent clip, the rest dazed, wounded, or near death."

"There's a chance—"

The Dragonslayer's red eyes stared flatly from his skull. "Not one that I'm willing to take. We move now. This mission has already been a disaster, I see no reason to tempt fate anymore."

Giroldus dropped back with the other volunteers, a troubled expression on his face.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Quelaria wrung her hands as if straightening the knots out of her fingers could untangle this situation. Four of her sisters, gone. It had happened so fast, without any apparent warning signs apart from Qayleb's cries.

And Qayleb himself…

He had formed some sort of connection to the Witch to keep an eye on her while they were worried for her. When the energies she had contained had erupted, that connection had been his doom.

She idly twisted one of the many rings on her fingers. This one had been given to her by Giroldus. She had taken it in an amused fashion at first. After all, he was hardly her first or last human. After a while though, it had remained with her. To her surprise, so had Giroldus.

Qayleb's ring though, had been more of a utility item than jewelry.

The Witch had fashioned it for him when she had realized his condition, to stave off the burns and sores. It had worked for years, but his condition appeared to have outgrown his ring. It helped, but did not prevent his discharge anymore.

She knew it was certainly doing no good right now.

As Ornstein had vaulted the balcony, her brother's skin had begun to split apart. She and her sisters had poured their power onto him, attempting to hold him together by pure force of will.

His ring had fallen off in his struggles.

As their power had broken, monstrous creatures were spawned of the ring itself by the connection Qayleb had last formed.

They had barely escaped, the last Daughters of Chaos.

She had cried heavily in the last few hours, hearing the screams and yells of the nearby battle and knowing those monsters out there were her people. She had passed them on the street, bought produce from them, shared the occasional joke. Gods, some of them out there were probably the remnants of Velka's little recruitment force! A fitting end, she thought.

But _this_ was not a fitting end for _her_. Cowering in some tent while others fought and died for her mother's mistake.

She looked over at her remaining family. "Sisters, I _cannot_ take this lying down."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The heated battle on the plains of Izalith against the demon horde had gone better than expected, but that still meant that hundreds of Silver Knights lay dead, far under the earth. It seemed that they were losing interest in a meal that could fight back as tenaciously as they had. They didn't need to know that Korde doubted they could last more than an hour more. Gods, but they were hardy beasts!

The farthest back ranks of demons had begun peeling off and returning to the city, no doubt hoping to find some left over beings that wouldn't struggle so hard. This was both relieving and problematic. On one hand, the worn-out Silver Knights would get their much-needed respite.

On the other hand, they were going to run straight into the party that had journeyed there to collect survivors.

If possible, Korde would hold the demons here for an hour more if need be.

He roared as he sliced a demon's head in two, kicking the body out of the way as a hulking brute bowled toward him. The body didn't quite get out of the way in time, and it was thrown against him in the Taurus's charge. Claws raked against his side, and a terrible grip closed around his arms.

He saw the roof of the cavern, quickly replaced by the ground as he flew through the air.

A cut had opened across his forehead. It bled heavily, getting in his eyes. He couldn't spare time to clear them.

He speared forward blindly, feeling the blade of his glaive sink into reeking flesh. He levered himself to his feet, twisting the blade and hauling it out for another stab. He kept at it until he met no resistance.

He finally swiped at his eyes with the back of his gauntlet, confirming his thoughts.

He had come out to the front lines to shore up a portion that was breaking. There had been a great deal many of those strange bulbous floating demons that spewed crimson flames from their mouths to blacken the armor of many a knight. It wasn't as simple as just stabbing them. If you did, they would simply spill the fiery contents all over you. He had seen too many go down screaming, ablaze in those chaotic flames.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a terrible cloud of those very demons floated in his direction.

"ARCHERS! THEIR HEADS! THEIR _HEADS_!"

The heavy arrows of the Silver Knights soared in their own deadly cloud, striking the bizarre creatures. Their heads were small targets, and not many shots connected. A few were punctured, and the line defending against the howling horde was bathed in flames. A few screams went up, either from those burned, or those that blocked the flames that met the claws and teeth of their foe.

Tongues of flame leapt from the survivors' mouths arcing down to those behind the front lines as they floated overhead. Korde brought his shield up, feeling the flames wash over it, an oddly heavy feeling, like blocking a flow of water.

The line broke with a despairing cry.

"BULK UP ON ME!" Korde's voice was strained. If he survived this battle, he doubted he would be able to speak for several days.

A serpent demon shot forward, and he stabbed his glaive into its eye. It gave a weirdly human cry and continued past him, apparently not too badly hurt. This motion wrenched his weapon from his grip, caught in the demons' eye. It coiled around him, the spines on its back squealing as they scraped against his armor.

His arm poked out between the coils of this cursed serpent, and he reached wildly for his glaive, before it could—

Pressure unlike anything he had ever felt squeezed down upon him from every direction, driving several spikes into his side.

He yelled out, losing a great deal of his breath in the process. His arm broke with a sickening _crack_ , hanging uselessly outside the horrid scaled coils. There was a creaking that he _felt_ more than heard in his torso. Blackness stole in from the corners of his eyes, but not fast enough to see the snake's head above him. Its mouth was opened frighteningly wide, teeth continuing down its throat…

 _This is it. Gwyn knows I've fought hard._

There was a hoarse cry, and Korde had the sensation of someone pressing a piece of blessedly cool metal against his cheek.

He managed to crack an eyelid. The pressure was already slacking off.

A sword blade had pierced the rugged hide of the creature, just barely missing his own head. He would recognize a Silver Knight sword anywhere.

Another such blade hacked into the side of the already half-blinded snake, and it uncoiled itself completely. Korde fell bonelessly to the stones beneath.

His men.

"Sir!"

He saw dirty silver boots before his eyes. Hands grabbed his shoulders to help him sit up, and pain throbbed deeply at the touch. Another sound left his lips, sounding more like a deep groan.

"Commander! Can you hear me?" A blurry gauntlet waved in front of his face, the motion turning his stomach. It was replaced by a few faces.

Someone had removed their helmet. He wanted to tell them to put it back on, they were in a battle, but he couldn't seem to draw the breath to do so. Something grated inside his chest.

Something was being pressed into his remaining hand, and he tried to loll his head to see what it was.

A knight had brought him his glaive, closing his fingers over the haft.

His eyes drifted to the breastplate of one of his faithful knights. It had maintained much of its shine, and he could see himself reflected in it. It wasn't a pretty sight.

How long could he hold his breath? He couldn't seem to remember when he had taken a breath last.

The heads around him were all helmetless, bowed to their chests.

He hoped his face conveyed his pride in them.


	24. Chapter 24

As the Knights finally left the outskirts of Izalith behind, they were greeted by the sight of piles of bodies scattered across the plains, demons and Silver Knights alike. Although there were more of the former, the remaining Knights looked as though they wouldn't last much longer.

And if they fell…

"Gough!" Ornstein barked, "Protect the humans! Ciaran, Artorias and I will go forward and clear a path. Follow behind at your own pace." Crouching down and placing a palm on the ground, he pushed off with an explosive burst of speed.

Artorias sheathed his greatsword and slung his shield onto his back, following after the Captain. "I wish I knew how he did that. He's definitely going to hog all of the action."

Ciaran kept pace next to him, taking perhaps two or three steps for every one of Artorias's long strides. "He neglected to share that technique."

Artorias glanced over at her. "Would you care for a ride there?"

She scoffed. "Artorias, I'm a Knight of Gwyn. I can run the whole way if I need to."

"Well, sure, no doubt. But you've got to go directly into combat afterwards. As for myself, that Casper fellow really can work miracles. I feel as fresh as though I just got here!"

She considered.

"If you're worried about image, don't be. No one could be ashamed of being astride such a magnificent mount!" He indicated Sif, who was bounding alongside her.

"Oh. Of course." She banished the image of herself receiving a piggyback ride from Artorias and flipped athletically onto the huge wolf's back.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Not ten seconds after Ornstein arrived, piercing the rear line of the demon horde, a collective cry of dismay rose up from somewhere on the front lines.

That wasn't a good sign.

He really wished his helmet had survived this mess.

The demons had wasted no time in converging on him, howling and lunging with animal savagery. He quickly found that wading into their mass was not something that would end well for him. He was forced to strafe along their line, drawing them out and picking them off. If he kept his guard up, and the main force didn't converge on him, he'd be able to—

"STAY STRONG MEN! HOLD THE LINE FOR ANOR LONDO!"

Artorias barreled into the line at full speed, sword and shield drawn, flattening the first few demons before they knew what was happening.

On Ornstein's other side, Sif leapt into action, sweeping his sword into his foes while Ciaran's tracers wheeled in deadly arcs over his head.

So much for that.

There was an abrupt flare of intense light from the other side of the Demon horde, and those that hadn't been surprised by the sudden appearance of the Knights whipped their heads around to stare towards the new spectacle. From the far flank of the Silver Knights, it came again and again, accompanied by howls and screams.

Ciaran guided Sif over to Artorias as she might a horse, much to the wry amusement of the wolf. "Artorias! Give me a boost!"

"On it!" The Knight planted his sword in the ground and slipped his hand out of the enarmes of his shield, grasping her waist and hoisting her into the air without apparent difficulty.

She opened her mouth, but closed it again. She had really just intended to stand on his shoulders, but this would probably do…

…and his hands on her waist were hardly an unpleasant sensation.

"What do you see? What's happening over there?"

The demons seemed to get over their shock, attacking in all directions like a cornered animal, and a fleet of those strange blimp-like creatures blocked her view.

"Still can't see—watch out!"

Sif disemboweled a Capra as it tried to do the same to Gwyn's Knights, but another rushed through.

Artorias lowered her briefly for a moment, and she took that opportunity to move her hands blindingly fast to her belt, whipping two pairs of knives at the aggressor. Each one found its mark in a glowing red eye, and it dropped its improvised weapons, clutching at its head and screeching as the poison took effect.

"Here we go; one good look coming UP!"

On the last word, he tossed her straight up with a grunt.

The battle dropped below her, and the mostly flat area allowed her to see far through the fray.

The demons were scattering. Not in a uniform, organized manner, but it was clear they were leaving in search of easier prey. And she saw what the commotion was being caused by on the far side of the field.

Artorias caught her, setting her on the ground. "What's happening?"

She looked up at him. "The Daughters of Chaos are going back to Izalith."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Casper was tired.

Tired from running, and falling, and tired in the aftermath of his adrenaline working overtime. Not to mention working various miracles in defense of the residents of Izalith that they had managed to save.

Their bedraggled group of refugees, accompanied by Gough, had managed to slip by the side of the fleeing force disappearing into the deeps in and around the subterranean city. The Knight had taken deceptively slow steps that ate up a lot of ground, loosing that enormous bow as he did so and killing or maiming with nearly every strike. Eventually though, the giant had heaved a sigh and grumbled to himself like a localized thunderstorm.

"No more arrows." He looked over to the Berenike, and Casper got the impression that he was smiling under his helmet. "Giroldus, remind me to expand my quiver's storage when we get home."

The man answered absently, looking intently to where flashes of light were flaring on the field. "That's got to be the Daughters."

The giant turned to look as well. "Hmm? Ah. Right you are." He tilted his head and scratched at his neck. "But what are they doing going back into Izalith?"

" _What_?!" Giroldus had his sword out.

Gough evidently believed the knight hadn't heard him. " **What are they doing going back to Izalith**?" The ground thrummed in response to the giant raising his voice, and Casper winced.

"They can't! There are still demons _everywhere_!" The Berenike swept his eyes over their group, fear in his eyes. "You made it back to safety, Hawkeye. I have to stop Quelaria!" He took off across the stony plain. "She's going to get herself killed!"

The giant took a step after him, then stopped. He still had a group of refugees to take care of.

Casper stepped forward, drawing his own sword. "Fear not, Gough. I will aid him. You're nearly there."

The giant hesitated another moment before nodding his massive head. "I would rather none of thee vanish, especially now.", he rumbled, "But I suppose they do need the help. Go."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Quelaria had scythed her way through the far flank of demons with her sisters in tow with less resistance than she had expected. It appeared that they were taking their leave.

She strode determinedly with her two remaining sisters on either side of her. Quelana spoke up.

"Sister, do you think this is a good idea? The city is likely still infested. We could wait until—"

Quelaria didn't break her stride. "They're family, sister. Every moment we wait, our sisters could be bleeding out. And you saw Qayleb. He needs us."

Her sister winced, but nodded.

A passing Taurus demon roared and decided that they looked like easy prey, adjusting itself to barrel toward them. Quereina spat out a harsh vocalization and loosed a white-hot bar of fire that bored through the demon's chest, leaving a hole wide enough to encompass her. It fell soundlessly to the ground like a puppet with it's strings cut.

She was glad she Quereina had decided to come. Out of all of the Daughters, she had the greatest sheer power. Whereas Quelaria could work some very fine and subtle fire, her sister had heavy magical muscle. She would be invaluable in the immediate future, she sensed.

They made their way to the edge of the city with little resistance, much to her suspicion, as she had seen the majority of the host of demons vanish inside. She was hoping to exploit a certain shortcut to cut straight to the palace region of the city that she had used countless times before, under much happier circumstances…

No. There would be time for sorrow later.

Family came first.

Her hands found the hidden switch behind the rubble of a shattered statue, and she gave it a brisk turn while caressing the mechanism with a flow of fire. There was abruptly a plain opening in the wall where there had not been one before.

There weren't many illusory walls in Izalith, not to say that there weren't other means of hiding passageways. She had specifically requested this enchantment.

The passage was filled with dust, but was otherwise quiet.

"Well, here we go."


End file.
